


Monkey and Me

by LadyArkin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flirting, Loss of Virginity, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 03:55:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4549398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyArkin/pseuds/LadyArkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft needs a pretend boyfriend and turns to the first person who can help. Unfortunately, Greg Lestrade isn't the pedestrian that Mycroft wishes he would be. When it stops being pretend, Mycroft is sure to end it. But that's when things become even more serious and complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Operation Boyfriend Dilemma

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Sherlock, Mystrade work. I've enjoyed reading into their on-screen relationship(s) so much that I just had to try writing it. Hopefully, I've been able to capture the voices properly.

It was a rarity that Mycroft spoke with anyone outside of his office, except by choice. It was disconcerting to say the least that he could be so entrapped. It came as a surprise to him when Ansley was able to talk his way into Mycroft’s office. He stood there staring at his open office door wondering how he could have let such a thing happen.  
“Sir?” Anthea’s voice betrayed that she could read him thoroughly.  
“Send in a quick disruption,” he said quietly.  
She made halted sound, fell silent, and quickly checked her phone. “Of course,” she said easily.  
Slowly, Mycroft walked into his office to find Ansley sitting, not at his desk but at one of the wing chairs in the sitting area. The area that he held for acquaintances known for 10 years or more. Mycroft didn’t want to sit so close to the man under such an obvious social situation. He was sure it would force a private conversation.  
“There’s been changes to the winter retreat at Rotham house,” Ansley stated simply.  
Mycroft waited.  
Eventually, Ansley asked, “Aren’t you going to sit, old boy?”  
“I don’t mean to be rude, but any moment I have an appointment. As I previously said, I don’t have the time to meet with you right now. Will these changes effect either security or the agenda?”  
“Not directly. But, it is interesting that Bollens’ wife won’t be attending due to… differences. That makes it officially a wife-free weekend. I’ve assigned appropriate security to both ladies of course.”  
Patiently, Mycroft explained, “The sate of his marriage is his business. I’ve told you before that I’ve no interest in playing such politics.”  
“But it’s a great opportunity for you. That office is central to this government. You shouldn’t take this lightly. It could serve as a platform for greater things.”  
The smile that appeared on his face was one of long, insincere practice. “While I appreciate you concern-  
Mycroft heard the door. He turned with absolute hope. He couldn’t help the smile when he saw Lestrade.  
“Gregory,” Mycroft spouted as he walked towards the man. As a matter of habit, Mycroft scanned the man’s appearance. Suit, 24 hours hold. Bags under the eyes. Bruises across the knuckles on the right hand. Coffee cup in hand.  
“You’re late. I was starting to worry. The case is concluded, I trust.”  
Tightness across Lestrade’s eyes and the slight clench of the jaw answered for him.  
“Ah, well then I insist we continue on to lunch. You can’t go another 24 hours on bad coffee and cigarettes.” My reached out and squeezed the Detective Inspector’s arm saying, “Let me get my things.”  
As he walked to his coat closet Mycroft said, “The changes you mentioned don’t effect my part of the event. And I have no with to further discuss the other matter. Now, I hope you understand that I have an engagement.”  
Before the other man could say a word Mycroft turned and walked briskly towards the door. Lestrade was already holding it open.  
“I didn’t drink too much coffee,” Lestrade gripped as Mycroft passed him.  
Mycroft took two steps, slowed to a stop, and turned. He simply looked down at the cup in the DI’s hand. He noted the hand drawn double heart motif on the side of the cup. He noticed two numbers written in the same ink just next to the man’s long fingers and Mycroft raised an eyebrow.  
“You’re going to strain an eyebrow,” Lestrade said as he began walking away towards the elevator.  
As they waited for the elevator Mycroft slipped his hand into this pants pocket. He tapped the end of his umbrella on the floor as he said, “In the last three months you’ve stopped at the same coffee shop twelve times.”  
“Oh, good. You’ve been counting. This can only be good.”  
Undaunted, Mycroft said, “Progressively, the barista has been growing ever… affectionate. At first a ‘Thank you,’ which morphed into a happy face. The first heart didn’t appear until two weeks ago. Now, two hearts and a phone number.”  
“It’s not a phone number,” Lestrade said adamantly.  
The elevator doors opened.  
“Really,” Mycroft said utterly entertained. “Would you care to move your fingers?”  
“Not at the moment.”  
Mycroft smiled.  
“Stop it,” Lestrade growled. “She’s only a kid with a crush on a dashing, and handsome, if older man.”  
“Ah, it’s all explained now. And of course the dashing, handsome, if older man is enjoying every second of this attention as evidenced by the fact that he keeps going back.”  
Lestrade hid the smile behind the coffee cup and took a sip.  
“Absolutely shameless,” Mycroft clucked.  
Gregory had to swallow the smile.  
The Detective Inspector followed the younger man out of the elevator, through the sparse lobby, and out. The black sedan smoothly pulled up to the curve seconds before they descended the last step.  
“I was only going to report. I know that I need a break. S’ why I’m here.”  
“I’ll explain inside.”  
“Really,” Lestrade said with equal parts interest and concern.  
Mycroft opened the car door. Without a further word, Lestrade slid into the plush car.  
He stretched out on the soft leather and could feel the caffeine, nicotine, hunger, and lack of sleep cry out in his limbs. His knee began to bounce of it’s own accord.  
“I can’t tell you much. Details-  
“Generalities and innuendo as usual.”  
Mycroft didn’t hesitate to say, “You need food and liquids that don’t have caffeine.”  
Greg rubbed his forehead. “Is that bloke dangerous?”  
“Annoying,” Mycroft corrected. “Smarter than I gave him credit. I’ve turned him down several times without success. He thinks himself my suitor and possible champion.”  
“If you’re putting up with it, it’s because you need him.”  
“It’s complicated. Diplomacy is usually my best skill, but this man is relentless, single-minded, and worst of all, I do need him.”  
“So I’m your boyfriend now. Is that it?”  
“And I’m thanking you by taking you to a very nice lunch.”  
Gregory turned to look at Mycroft.  
Mycroft quickly said, “I assure you that you won’t have to do much. After all, we already meet regularly. Have regular communications with one another. From the outside it could be interpreted as-  
“The slowest, most sexless relationship ever. We’ve never been in a room together longer than 15 minutes. We only communicate about your brother. I hate to break it to you, mate, but it doesn’t take a genius to find the flaws in that plan. If this guy is only as good as your dumbest, he’ll know something’s up. And, if you weren’t rattled, you’d know that.”  
Mycroft sat still. His mind racing.  
Minutes passed without Mycroft noticing. The car stopped. His attention came to the fact that they were outside his favorite restaurant. He caught the Detective Inspector glaring towards the restaurant.  
“The lunch here is excellent.”  
He didn’t miss that Detective Inspector Lestrade rubbed his head again before saying, “Fine. Sounds good.”  
The maitre d’ recognized Mycroft immediately. As a frequent customer who’d proven time and time again to be important enough to be able to secure a reservation, no matter what might be happening, the staff was able to motivate themselves appropriately. A suitable table was found, with a view but away from the main window. Place settings were removed leaving two across from one another.  
Mycroft sat placing his umbrella just within reach.  
The waiter quickly arrived with menus. In perfect French the man asked, “Do you have a wine in mind? Or, would you gentlemen like a few minutes?”  
“I’d be nice, but I’m still on duty,” Lestrade said to Mycroft before he could answer.  
Mycroft didn’t hesitate to respond in French. “Next time, perhaps. My companion and I shall have sparkling water.”  
With a slight bow the man was gone.  
Mycroft noticed the tight look on Lestrade’s face as the man read his menu.  
As gently as he could, Mycroft asked, “Can you read French as well as you understand it?”  
Lestrade closed his menu and leaned on his fist. “Yeah. I can read it, but the headache is making it hard.” A moment later, he added, “Do they have steak? Your boyfriend would like a steak.”  
Mycroft smiled. “As a matter of fact, they are supposed to have one of the finest steaks in London. In all the times that I’ve come here, I’ve never had one.”  
“Time you did.”  
He only had to think for a moment. “I suppose you are correct.”  
The waiter arrived with their drinks.  
Mycroft didn’t hesitate to order their steak lunches and an appetizer.  
After the first sip of the fizzy, fruity water, Greg realized just how thirsty he was. A moment later, he tipped his glass empty. Mycroft didn’t hesitate to offer Greg his glass saying, “You’re dehydrated.”  
By the end of this second glass of expensive water their appetizer had arrived. A cold, simply sliced pork terrine in it’s own gelatin sat on a cracker topped with a delicate truffle cream. With the first bite, Greg knew that the meal would be very expensive. After the second, he felt so much better that he wasn’t sure if he cared. By the time the steak arrived sizzling on a hot plate with a knob of herbed butter quickly melting, he decided that he didn’t care.  
“This,” Greg said with a growing smile, “is how you wind up getting laid.”  
“I try to impress.”  
“You’ve succeeded,” Gregory said picking up his knife and fork. The meat cut beautifully. It smelled heavenly and tasted even better.  
“Dry aged,” Mycroft explained as he watched the look on the Detective Inspector’s face.  
Lestrade chewed thoroughly and thoughtfully. At the end of that first bite, he said, “I’ve been thinking about Operation Boyfriend Dilemma.”  
“We have a name for it now? How reassuring.”  
Gregory sliced into his steak saying, “I only got divorced two years ago. No one wants to be the rebound. I needed time to get over it, so after a good amount of time of knowing each other as friends, we are now moving forward.”  
“I’ve been thinking.”  
“Never a good thing when a Holmes says that.”  
Undaunted, Mycroft said, “You were right about Ansley. I’d be rather surprised if he wasn’t monitoring me. It is a part of his duties after all.”  
“Good.”  
Mycroft raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.  
“If we were dating, you wouldn’t make it obvious to anyone. Correct me if I’m wrong but isn’t calling me darling is a bit like taking out a billboard in your world?”  
“Less is more,” Mycroft said approvingly. “I think you’re right. He has me rattled. I find that unsettling.”  
“That’s what the outsider looking in is for. I need a pet name for you.”  
“No,” Mycroft said simply.  
“Mikey.”  
Mycroft cringed. “My mother, on occasion, has called me that.”  
“Mikey is off the table.”  
“Most appreciated.”  
Gregory gazed intently at Mycroft before saying, “This pet name is solely between the two of us. An inside joke.” Lestrade smiled and said, “Monkey.”  
“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to respond to that.”  
“It’s something that you would never call yourself, or really even think of. I call you Monkey because of the sounds you make when we-  
Mycroft held his hand up. “I see.”  
“Do you remember that credit card that you gave me for Sherlock-related emergencies?” Gregory began slicing at his steak again. “Tomorrow you will receive a bouquet of flowers with a note that only you will understand.”  
“Jasmine,” Mycroft said quietly.  
Greg chewed with a little smile but didn’t interrupt.  
“Flowers have meanings. They’re symbols which create a language all their own.”  
“And jasmine?”  
“Love, joy, God, purity. They always remind me of my grandmother.” Mycroft looked down at his plate. “I can’t help the look that I get on my face. I believe that is the type of emotive necessary for operation boyfriend dilemma.  
A slow smile spread across Greg’s face. He easily declared, “We have a working plan.”  
They continued to eat in quiet, good spirits speaking mostly about the case that the Detective Inspector was currently working. Mycroft offered a few insights which Lestrade committed to memory. By the end of their conversation, he was sure that it was as good as solved. Greg had only to do the leg work and make the arrest.  
By the time they were in Mycroft’s car smoothly guiding through traffic both men felt far better regarding their immediate problems.  
“One last thing,” Greg said once the car came to a halt in front of the Met.  
“What’s that?”  
“Snogging,” Greg stated. “Can’t get out of a car just like that. We have to wait for a bit.” He faced the younger man and said, “I wouldn’t just turn you loose.” Greg leaned in and reached his hand around Mycroft. He grabbed a handful of the man’s suit and pulled at his clothes.  
“When I kiss someone, they know it.”  
Greg reached up dislodging the other man’s carefully coiffured hair. Not a lot, just enough that the hair product was loosened a bit sending a stray lock over Mycroft’s ear.  
“Gregory, while I’m sure-  
“Two grown men sitting in a running car for more than five minutes.”  
“Yes. I see.” Mycroft leaned forward and retrieved a bottle of cold water from the mini fridge saying, “Hydrate, then. We both know that when you return to your work, you’ll ride this case to its conclusion only on what you’ve consumed so far.”  
“Yes, Monkey.”  
A moment later they both laughed.  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
Mycroft finished four very long and involved, back-to-back meetings. Anthea had joined him, to the point of having to bring out her two assistants. Daniel and Daniel, or rather the two Daniels, rarely were seen out of what ever monitor-lined, computer, savvy cubby they usually inhabited. Mycroft treated the two Daniels as one entity. More for convenience than any malice on his part. It seemed as if only Anthea knew which she was referring too in conversation. So he didn’t bother distinguishing them, not even so much as to call them Thing 1 and Thing 2.  
As they walked towards his office at long last, Mycroft handed his files over to Anthea saying, “I’m famished.”  
“Yes, sir. I had Daniel order a salad for you. It’s on your desk.”  
“And, my next meeting?”  
“We shall have the Russian Prime minister on the phone on your desk in forty five minutes.”  
“Excellent. That give me time to-  
His eyes landed on the tasteful bouquet of white roses and jasmine sitting on Anthea’s desk.  
One of the Daniel’s promptly volunteered, “They arrived for you a few minutes ago, sir.”  
The bouquet was quite attractive. Simple and elegant as to allow the natural beauty of the flowers to shine. Although there were white roses the jasmine was the focus of the arrangement.  
Mycroft lightly but deeply took a deep breath and could only smile when he sensed the floral notes. He walked up to the flowers enjoying the alluring smell when he saw the card carefully pinned on a plastic pitch fork. He took the card wanting to open it so that he could feign a little fondness. A little smile to go with it might give his staff something to talk about.  
So he opened the card. A simple ‘M’ was scrawled in a masculine hand.  
It was a simple snow white card. Heavy stock, French by the paper’s watermarks. When he opened the card a loud monkey cry pierced the space. Inside were the words, “Made you smile.”  
For a split second everything stood still. In the next, an uncontrollable laughter bubbled up out of Mycroft. He tried to control it but the card chirped again rather wildly. Mycroft found himself laughing so hard that he had to put a hand on the desk in front to steady himself. He had to take a moment.  
Without looking up he said, “I’ll be in my office. I prefer not to be disturbed.”  
Mycroft picked up his flowers and retreated into the safety of his domain.  
At first he put his flowers on a small table off to one side. He pulled the plastic stick out of the arrangement and threw it away. He smiled and leaned in until he could feel soft petals against his nose. Nana’s garden in spring sprang immediately to mind. Her soft hands and unconditional love.  
It only took him a moment to decide against it and move the flowers to his desk. He wanted the luxury of smelling the jasmine on the air as he worked. Mycroft sat at his place and put his lunch aside.  
He looked over the card in his hands and smiled.  
Mycroft sat back in his chair. He turned the card over in his hands. It seemed that the Detective Inspector was not to be underestimated.  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
It was Thursday and his day to check in with Mycroft. Unlike usual he didn’t get a text giving him a time with the words, ‘My office.’ Instead he got a hand delivered note.  
When Greg looked up and saw Mycroft’s assistant at his threshold, he couldn’t help jumping up.  
“All is well,” she said calmly.  
“Then why are you here,” he asked immediately as he felt the sudden tension and adrenaline in his body.  
She offered him an envelope saying, “I’m to deliver this to you, Detective Inspector.”  
Anthea looked him up and down carefully saying, “A change of tie perhaps.”  
She smiled prettily and left without another word.  
Greg slid his fingers under the flap and worked it loose. The heavy linen paper was about what he’d expected. It looked and felt expensive. The printed letterhead looked to be Mycroft’s personal stock. It was printed in blue ink. The script was his, inked in blue, and perfect.  
The note was simple, asking him to dinner, their schedules permitting. Instead of a signature there was a little drawing of a happy smiling monkey swinging on a vine.  
Greg smiled hard at the page in his hand.  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
There was no available parking in the immediate area. Greg parked his car not far from the restaurant and walked. The place itself seemed popular.  
As he got closer, he saw the familiar black sedan parked by the curve. When he was closer the door opened. Greg didn’t hesitate to go to it. He got in and stretched out. Mycroft handed him a glass with a nip of whiskey in it.  
“That’s a greeting,” Greg inhaled the whiskey and growled in his throat approvingly.  
“That card you sent was the best laugh I’ve had in recent memory. I think I frightened my staff.”  
“Good,” Greg said with a smile. “Keep them guessing.”  
Greg took an approving sip. He turned to Mycroft. “I didn’t know that you were an artist.”  
“Merely a caricature. I thought I’d be amusing. Inside joke and all.”  
“Cheers,” Gregory responded as he held up his glass of fine spirits to Mycroft who didn’t hesitate to clink his crystal gently to Gregory’s.  
They sat quietly for a few moments.  
Finally, Greg said, “Would you indulge me?” Greg offered his glass to Mycroft. “Just hold it for a tick.”  
Greg leaned to one side and began pushing his weight against the side of the car so that the car was jostling rhythmically. At first Mycroft was quite confused by the action. It took a moment, but it finally dawned on him in absolute horror.  
“Detective Inspector! I demand that you stop that at once!”  
Greg turned to Mycroft and asked, “Why?”  
“I would never!”  
“Really?” Greg said as he got up so that he could kneel up on the leather seat. He braced his hands against the leather car top. He managed to give a few good bounces before Mycroft gave an authoritative, “Gregory!”  
“You’re no fun,” Greg said throwing himself into the seat.  
“While they are many things that I’d do, sex in a parked car, in front of a busy restaurant, isn’t one.”  
Greg smiled. “Finish your drink. In a minute we’re going to pull our pants up and stumble out so we can eat. Blokes get hungry after. It’s normal.”  
Mycroft opened his mouth to respond. Instead of speaking he decided to finish his whiskey.  
Just before they got out, Gregory was sure to ruin Mycroft’s hair product obedient hair.  
Gregory exited first.  
What he didn’t expect was for Gregory to brush his hair back into place saying, “Now you’ve gone and made me hungry.”  
Greg smiled knowingly when Mycroft blushed to the tips of his ears.  
Very quickly, Mycroft recovered by elegantly saying, “The pasta here is supposed to be very good. Handmade to order. Shall we?”  
“Sounds good.”  
“I read somewhere that the chef is direct from Tuscany. I’ve been looking for an opportunity to come here and sample the menu.  
They were seated quickly and wine arrived before Greg could even notice that the menu was in Italian with no pictures to help.  
“What are you in the mood for?”  
“A translation.”  
“May I suggest the tasting plate of the chef’s specialties?”  
Greg didn’t stop to even think. He simply replied, “Will you share it with me?”  
The little smile on Mycroft’s face felt fake. “I was hoping for a caprice salad and-  
“You’re not fat. I’ve noticed this diet thing you do and it’s ridiculous.” Greg leaned in and said, “Please eat a normal meal with me, in a restaurant that you want to eat in, from a celebrated chef who’s handmade pasta is in the press. Tomatoes, cheese, and basil aren’t his best dish. Don’t need to read the press or menu to know that.”  
Mycroft was still. His mind ticking along like a motor.  
“I’m not as quick as you two, but I have eyes and a mind.”  
Mycroft pretended to skim the menu as he said, “Are we sparring?”  
We both know that I’d never hope to win against you in just about anything.” He thought carefully before he said, “I just want you to enjoy yourself.”  
Mycroft remained silent for a few moments longer.  
Gregory tilted his head. “Perhaps you’d like to discuss my failed relationships. Or how I surround myself with difficult people who hurt me, Sherlock for instance. Open season,” Greg said good humored. “I’m an open book.”  
“As it has repeatedly been pointed out to me, I am not.”  
“Friends can discuss things. Even the uncomfortable stuff we don’t want to talk about, without having to worry.”  
Mycroft opened his mouth.  
“I know,” Greg said. “But you should have it. If nothing else I’d like to offer you that. I’m not a politician, John Watson, or an enemy spy.”  
Mycroft smiled. “That is the list. Isn’t it?”  
The waiter arrived and began to speak in fluent Italian.  
Mycroft ordered going back and forth with the waiter a few times. It seemed fairly simple.  
Their wine arrived and he lost track of Mycroft ordering. The dark color of the wine pouring into his glass caught him.  
Greg tried the wine. He was pleasantly surprised. He’d never been terribly impressed by the Italian’s. While not terribly sophisticated it was a nice cup that would go well with their meal.  
“When my great granduncle was still alive, he’d send my grand-père a seasonal box of French wines. It’s been forever since I’ve had that feeling that I was drinking something worth the effort to open the bottle.”  
“Is it?”  
“Surprisingly, yes. The Italian’s made a good one.”  
Mycroft gave a little bit of a smile and then tried his wine. After a moment of letting it wash over his palette, he said, “Very nice. It has a pleasant finish. It should go well with dinner.”  
Instead of asking further regarding their food, Greg said, “You’re probably dying to find out what your brother has gotten up too this week.”  
“Is he alive?”  
“So far.”  
“In jail?”  
“Not this week.”  
“Is he either in danger of using or causing an international incident?”  
“No to the using. He also claims to not be smoking. And, as far as I know his current case won’t take him near either a foreign country, foreign nationals, or dignitaries.”  
Mycroft leaned back in his chair with his glass in hand. “Isn’t it odd, the places our lives take us. So busy with duty, life, and our place in it that we don’t often realize where we are.”  
“Very philosophical, Mr. Holmes.”  
Mycroft smiled. “I was merely pointing out that my intention when I brought you on board was as an extra pair of eyes to keep my brother out of trouble. I never intended to get to know you.”  
“I don’t mind Sherlock. One day we’re going to turn around and he’s going to surprise us. Make us proud.”  
“Unfortunately, surprising people is easy for him.”  
“That’s why I added the proud bit.”  
A waiter arrived with a large platter which was placed in the center of the table. Greg was immediately impressed by the array of small foods. Some, he could even identify by name.  
“It’s a tasting plate for two, not on the menu,” Mycroft explained.  
Greg’s smile rivaled Mycroft’s.  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
The next day of work was marked by two interesting events.  
First, at lunch Ansley made an interesting comment which Mycroft chose to ignore. In the midst of another long meeting, lunch had to be ordered by those gathered. Mycroft opted for a light fruit salad and his usual green tea. Ansley didn’t hesitate to lean over and say, “I appreciate people who look after their figure’s. There isn’t enough fastidiousness in the world.”  
Mycroft continued to jot down notes which Anthea would need to carry out. Each meeting brought up issues, a thousand threads that touched a thousand people, places, and events. At times, only he knew where everything went in the grand scheme.  
When he had the information that he needed written down properly, he gathered his things to leave. He noticed that lunch had arrived, took his, and left the room.  
When he got to this office, he found a bouquet of flowers sitting on his desk in the same spot where he’d placed the previous. This time the flowers were freesia in the center of a tight bouquet that was surrounded with jasmine. Signifying sweetness, trust, and friendship. Each bud looked so delicate and dainty.  
Mycroft set his lunch aside and instead picked up the envelope attached. The usual ‘M’ was written on it. Instead of a tasteful card inside he found that this envelope held a rather garish card shaped like a cartoon chimp. Red, fluff was glued in tuffs at the top and at the sides. Mycroft took a breath and then opened the card. Inside it said, “Wild hair = fun time. G.”  
Mycroft sat in his chair and stared at the smiling cartoon face in his hands.  
“You are here upon banished,” he said to the card.  
Mycroft opened his bottom drawer and punched in the combination code. He opened the steel door. Next to a small gun and several highly secret files was a small box. He pulled the box out. His eyes immediately went to the previous note. The fluffy haired primate joined it and he secured them away.  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
It was coincidence that it was Wednesday morn when Greg received a text from Mycroft which read, “Must test the bounds of this thing called friendship. Please come to my office. Earliest convenience.”  
Greg smirked.  
“I am yours to command,” he typed. “Leaving now.”  
Greg left his work where it was. Paperwork meant to finish up a recent case. He even closed the door to his office door.  
On his way out, he stopped at Donavan’s desk to inform her, “Early lunch. Have some personal business to attend. I’ve got my phone if something happens.”  
And with that, he was off.  
He stopped off at the coffee shop across from the Met on a lark. He picked up one café au lait and one green tea.  
When he was sitting in his car again, he opened up his glove box and pulled out the stickers that he’d bought over the weekend. They were an impulse buy. And now, it seemed like the right time to peel off a monkey sticker or two.  
Mycroft’s office building was as forgettable as it was non-descript. Greg knew the way by heart. He drove up to the panel, swiped his electronic pass, and then announced his name and the person he intended to visit. As usual it took a few minutes.  
He sipped his coffee.  
Eventually, the metal gate went up and the retractable bollards slowly sank down into the parking garage’s concrete floor. Once he was clear, Greg set his coffee down and drove in.  
He parked and proceeded inside with his two hot cups in hand.  
He found Mycroft outside of his office speaking quietly with Anthea. Greg noticed the exact moment that Mycroft noticed him and the split second later that he noticed his coffee cup.  
“We shall talk about it later, my dear. I have a few things to discuss with the Detective Inspector.”  
Anthea smiled saying, “Of course, sir.”  
She didn’t go far. As a matter of fact, she looked as if she was eavesdropping.  
“I see your girlfriend has now graduated to using crayons. How avant guarde.”  
Greg smiled and offered the second cup. “I bring libations of peace.”  
Mycroft snorted when he saw the monkey sticker.  
“Green tea, plain,” Greg reassured.  
Mycroft accepted. “Come. We need to talk.”  
As Greg passed Anthea, he saw the big smile on her face. He couldn’t help giving her a cheeky wink.  
The door closed behind them.  
He noticed the flowers on Mycroft’s desk the moment he entered. The theme in the flowers that he’d picked out had been long friendship and warm regards. The card had been a banana shaped card in which he’d written a joke of the day about a monkey with a banana walking into a bar. It wasn’t funny. It had been dorky, bordering on awful. That’s why he’d liked it.  
Mycroft went to his customary seat and Greg to his.  
Greg stretched his legs out in front of him saying, “So who do you need me to kill?”  
“Oh,” Mycroft sighed. “Were that it were that simple.”  
“Is it that little Ansley rat?”  
“I believe that he is now testing the limits of his position by manipulating those around me. It would be interesting if it wasn’t such an annoyance.”  
Greg sipped from his cup and waited.  
“To put it simply, there is a retreat of sorts in a week. I need you to come.”  
“Come and do what?”  
Mycroft hesitated.  
“I’m not exactly skilled army candy, Mycroft.”  
“Usually the wives come, but due to certain upsets, it’s turned into a gentleman’s week. My co-workers are quite anxious to meet my new beau.”  
“Will the little rat be there?”  
“Oh, yes,” Mycroft said sitting back with his tea.  
“So he wants to get a look at the competition. And of course, make me look bad.”  
Mycroft pulled his cup away from his lips long enough to nod.  
Greg thought for a moment and then asked, “Do you want me there?”  
Mycroft carefully considered the question before speaking. “It’s a long, tedious week for me. I have to deal with demanding personalities with little respite. Having you there would be soothing, but I fear that it would be boring for you.”  
“Then, I’ll have to keep myself entertained and out of the way. That’s what arm candy does, right?”  
“I wouldn’t know,” Mycroft murmured over the plastic top of his disposable cup.  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
Greg got in late. His small flat was always too dark and too cold no matter what he did. He didn’t like it, but it was all he could afford. Since he only arrived to eat, shower, and sleep, why spend more than he had too. He was still struggling to find his way out of the dark shadow of financial despair that his divorce had put him in. He was grateful they’d never been able to have kids. The added strain of child support probably would have broken him.  
As it was, he was just grateful for a place to sleep…on those days that he even made it home.  
Once the door was closed, he tossed his keys on the chair by the door. He was about to take off his jacket when he noticed them. Several boxes and large bags sitting on his second hand dining table. Greg reached back for his weapon. He drew it in one clean motion. He systematically cleared his flat; one room and one blind spot at a time.  
He didn’t holster until he was sure.  
He returned to the kitchen/dining/living room and peeked in the bags. He instantly found a tasteful jacket and several expensive looking shirts.  
Greg let out a long slow breath.  
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Mycroft.  
“Was this you?”  
“I apologize. I’m sure that I’ve overstepped several boundaries but it was necessary. You’ll find a tuxedo and several other items that you’ll need.”  
“Mycroft-  
“My mother’s home is close to where we’ll be staying. She wants a visit. I’m not good at saying no to her.”  
“Does she know?”  
“Only that you may come along to the retreat and that you ensure Sherlock’s safety. She is most anxious to discuss Sherlock with us, at length.”  
“Doesn’t call much, does he?”  
“Hardly.”  
A moment went by. Greg looked at everything on the table and had to look away. “Mycroft-  
“I assure you that by the time this is over, I will still be quite indebted to you.”  
“It’s supposed to snow. It’s a waste. I’ll never wear any of it, you know.”  
“I appreciate your patience with me. I know how boorish I can be at times.”  
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll let all of this go if you let me make you dinner.”  
“Setting terms?”  
“Why not?”  
Greg could hear the grin over the phone line.  
“Very well, Gregory. Whatever you think is best.”  
“You promise? Anything?”  
“Yes,” Mycroft said simply.  
“Then you’ve got a deal.”  
“Agreed.”  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
Best laid plans don’t always fruition. They set two different dates for dinner at Greg’s flat. He cleaned, even going out of his way when he was there to keep everything spotless and organized.  
The first time Mycroft had to cancel. He couldn’t explain and Greg didn’t ask. Greg simply got a text which read, “Sorry. Must leave country for two days. Let’s re-schedule.”  
The second time was the Monday before the retreat. Greg had prepped Sunday night. He was trying to sneak out of work early when he caught a case. And there went his planned evening of pumpkin soup, chicken cutlets in red wine glaze with baby potatoes, and warm bread pudding.  
Instead he got to investigate a cabbie who had his brains blown right out of his head and into the cab’s interior. So instead of sitting to a nice table, warm food, and good company, Greg got stuck out knee deep in dirty snow. The wind chapped his face. And, his nose ran without mercy.  
Even worse, the dead guy’s fluids froze in place which meant extra problems collecting evidence. It also made removing the body difficult since it froze in place.  
His cancelling dinner that time took them along from one text to another. Between work and Sherlock’s antics the most Greg managed was an outing with John to the local pub.  
John looked like he really needed to decompress. He flirted a bit with a few girls. Chatted two up and even got a number. Greg only watched from the bar as he nursed his brew. He had two beers, listened to John complain, and then he pushed his empty glass away saying, “I’m done.”  
“It’s not yet 8:30!”  
“I have an early morning.”  
“Oh, yeah. The retreat,” John said widening his eyes dramatically.  
“It won’t be that bad.”  
“You hope.” John tilted his glass towards Greg saying, “That’s the same wide eye optimism that I had when I moved in with the other Holmes.”  
“You need to let it go, mate.”  
“The twat put human intestines in the tub! I stepped in someone’s guts! I’ll never recover!”  
Greg laughed again. “And I thought he was the drama queen.”  
John sat back. His face tight, lips twisted down and to the right. After a moment, John asked, “Do you live with rotting human remains? Are they in your crisper?”  
Greg smiled, “He wouldn’t be Sherlock if he wasn’t up to something. Sounds like I’m going to meet his ma. Any messages?”  
Staring into his beer, John asked, “Ask her how she could unleash a plague upon the world.”  
“I’ll give her your love and Sherlock’s,” Greg said in understanding. “In the meantime I’ll have my mobile. Also, I told Dimmock to stand by, just in case.”  
“Ta,” John said mournfully.  
Greg reached over and gave him a brief one armed hug.  
“Finish your beer and go home, mate. Sherlock’s a twat,” Greg said pushing away from the bar. “But he’s our twat. Now, I still have to finish packing for my posh retreat.”  
“Have fun being a kept man,” John said with a wink.  
“I’ll try. And remember, as long as you can get him to agree to keep the body parts off of one shelf, you can still use the fridge. The pungent aroma just becomes added flavor profile.”  
John smiled and threw up a two fingered salute in Greg’s direction.  
Greg patted John on the shoulder as he passed by, smiles on both their faces.  
Night had fallen since he’d been in the pub. He stepped out into a bitter wind and adjusted his collar.  
The walk to his apartment was only two blocks. The cold only motivated him to put his head down and move faster.  
Once home, he put his coat away and the kettle on. He was about to continue with the packing effort. His bag was open and sitting on the dining table ready for the last of it. He’d unpackaged all of the new items. Everything was folded. Most was in the suit case. And, he still had to iron out a few creases from two shirts.  
His phone rang.  
“Gregory, how goes the packing?”  
“Almost finished. Just saw John.”  
“I trust that my sibling is driving him around the bed again?”  
“Intestines in the tub,” Greg answered. “We had a few pints. He’s fine.”  
Mycroft sighed. “I’m sure. He’s quite resilient. Meanwhile, I wanted to remind you to bring a good set of thermals and bathing trunks. Perhaps if we have the time, we shall take a sauna.”  
“Check and double check,” Greg said looking at the assembled items still on his dining table.  
“To confirm-  
“Tomorrow, 0700 at your place. You want to show off your shiny new car.”  
“The mechanic has assured that it is winter ready.”  
“And I’ll have my gun with me. So you have security. I’m not worried. We can drive wherever you like.”  
“Perhaps we’ll take off to France instead.”  
Greg smiled. “Paris is always nice.”  
“The south is always warm.”  
“We can find a nice little chalais in the middle of nowhere, drink excellent wine, and eat fresh cheese every day with crusty baguettes.”  
Mycroft fell silent.  
“Too much temptation?”  
“Sometimes,” Mycroft said in an unusual tone. Just as quick, it was gone with the next words. “I shall see you tomorrow morning. Our first stop will be breakfast.”  
“Should I bring tea?”  
“Missing your girlfriend already, are you?”  
“It’s her Crayola art. It’s quite good.”  
“You needn’t worry. I shall provide my own tea. And, possibly even that excessive coffee you prefer.”  
Dutifully, Greg said, “Yes, Monkey.” 


	2. The Happy Couple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of Mycroft and Greg go on a working holiday. Together, hand-in-hand, they pretend to be the loving couple. Insidiously, as these things happen, they grow closer.

Greg arrived at ten minutes to seven. He parked on the curve right outside Mycroft’s house. Mycroft’s sleek new Jaguar XJ was sitting with it’s trunk open and two large men were standing nearby.  
They walked up and nodded to Greg. Greg recognized the second one as, Lieutenant Weaver, Mycroft’s head of security. One walked around to the back of his car the other came to the driver side door. Greg popped his truck and exited.   
“Detective Inspector,” the Lieutenant said as seriously as ever as he held the door open.   
“Morning. Mycroft been out yet?”  
“Mr. Holmes is expected to exit at any moment. We alerted him of your arrival, Detective Inspector.” The man fell into step with him as he kept speaking. “I was informed that you were armed for this trip, sir.”  
“Glock 17.”  
The man looked relieved.  
“Would you like additional ammo or weapons?”  
Greg immediately responded, “I have three full clips, and one in the chamber. Have there been threats? Do you expect problems?”  
“Sir, Mr. Holmes is a high priority asset. I always assume and prepare for the worst. The car and both your phones are GPS enabled. We’ll be tracking. My counterpart at Rotham House will take responsibility at the five mile mark. Should there be a problem of any kind, an emergency beacon will be met by armed aerial response. There’s a ten minute response time.”  
“I understand. I change my mind. I’ll take the ammo.”  
The man brought his wrist up to his lips and said only, “9 mil.” His next words to Greg were, “I prepared a care package for you. It’ll be at your feet.”  
A third security officer in plain clothes walked out of the house with a box of ammo in hand. It was placed in the car without a word.   
“There’s a panic button next to the lighter. That should be everything, sir.”  
Greg nodded. “I’ll keep him safe.”  
A second later Mycroft walked out as he adjusted his coat collar. Two thermoses were cradled between his arm and coat.  
“Good morning to all. Lieutenant, I trust that you’ve exhausted your paranoia?”  
“And spread a little around,” Greg said easily.  
“Excellent,” Mycroft said jovially as he handed Greg a thermos. “One coffee, scalded milk, three sugars, and no prepubescent flirting.”  
“You’re just never going to let that go.”  
Mycroft only smiled in response as he went towards the driver’s side with his cup.  
“Good trip, sirs.”  
“Cheers, mate,” Greg said as he went to the passenger’s side.   
The car engine turned. The heat came on. The seat warmers quickly began to warm. And, they were off.  
Greg managed two sips of his coffee before curiosity got the better of him. He set his cup down and picked up the ammo can by his foot. Inside he found an expandable baton, two knives, and a SIG Sauer P226 with a tactical light already attached to it. He couldn’t help smiling happily.  
“Nice, Lieutenant Weaver knows how to pack.”  
“He’s nervous.” Mycroft insisted. “For the next week, I’m not his responsibility and he’s uncomfortable with that loss of control.”  
“Can’t blame him. He knows how important it is to keep you safe.” Greg pulled out the expandable baton and tested it’s weight. He approved of the comfort grip. It felt good in his hand. “Can’t imagine anyone who works for you not loving you.”  
Greg put the baton in his waistband and set the ammo can back down and then reached for his service piece. Since the windows were tinted, he wasn’t careful about being seen by the public. He checked his weapon for the third time that morning before setting it back in it’s place.   
“Satisfied?”  
He didn’t answer. Inside, he knew that he wouldn’t be satisfied until they reached their destination. So, he picked up his coffee and tried to settle into the luxurious car.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Rotham House, unlike what the name implied, was a turn of the century manor complete with a moat and battlements. The area surrounding was sparse with forest. Within two thousand yards of the manor few trees had been left standing. The winter had stripped all foliage making the landscape stark and barren. This meant clear line of sight in all directions for a mile in all directions. With clear weather and appropriate optics, even farther still. Radar would make it impossible for anything to move within miles without being seen.  
“I’m assuming that cute little cottage we passed with the communications array on the roof is security.”  
“Quite,” Mycroft responded.  
They got out of the car just as two men walked out of Rotham House. One held an electronic tablet, and the other an AR-15.  
“Mr. Homes, we’re pleased to have you,” the first man said in greeting. He held the tablet out to Mycroft who didn’t hesitate to take his glove off and lay his hand down for scanning.  
The man looked over the results. “Thank you, sir. And you, Detective Inspector Lestrade,” he said holding out the tablet to Greg. Greg placed his hand down exactly as Mycroft had.  
Once satisfied, the man looked up and said, “Thank you Detective Inspector. Your room is ready if you’d like to freshen up from your trip. Lunch will soon be served in the dining room and your things will taken up for you.”  
“Thank you, Mr. Armstrong. After lunch do you think you could arrange for a security tour for Detective Inspector Lestrade. I’m sure he’d be most interested.”  
“As you wish, Mr. Holmes.”  
With that they entered the big house.  
Their coats, hats, and gloves were taken at the door by a real life butler. They were then escorted to a sitting room where several men were already gathered. Each had a drink of some sort in hand.  
“Ah,” an older, round gentleman with mutton chops declared. “The man himself.”  
“Your ears aught to be burning, Mycroft.” A distinguished, thin man with a ruddy face and silver hair said while holding up and snifter of amber liquid.  
“See Andrew,” said the man with the mutton chops. “I told you that he’d produce the gentleman in question.” He turned to Mycroft and said, “Many happy returns to the pair of you.”  
Mycroft walked farther into the room saying, “The wedding date is hardly set, Norman.” He went to the nearest seat, a French chaise lounge. He didn’t sit.  
Greg went to stand near him.  
Mycroft didn’t hesitate to say, “I find it endlessly fascinating how others are so interested in the status my love life.”  
Greg immediately said, “We covered this already, people who know you, love you.”  
Mycroft stood awkwardly for a moment. He looked around, found the housekeeper, and said, “Tea, please.” Mycroft sat. “Gregory, would you like anything?”  
“I’ll have tea with the change of topic.”  
“Astounding,” mutton chops said. The man stood from where he was and went to Greg’s side saying, “I’ve never witnessed anyone handle Mycroft like that. You shall do, my boy. You shall do.” The man held his meaty hand out and said, “Norman Asberry.”  
“It’s nice to meet you, sir. Gregory Lestrade.”  
The tall, ruddy faced man was quickly there holding out his hand. “Lord Andrew Bollens. I know the name Lestrade. Lestrade. Yes, of course. The suicide murders Sir Patterson was killed.”  
“Poor, Jeffery. It was a beautiful service.”  
“I’m still sorry we didn’t work faster. Unfortunately, sometimes you have to wait for the killer to make a mistake.”  
“Really,” A dark haired young man said from his seat. “I thought it was Holmes the younger who found the killer for you?”  
Greg smiled. “Sherlock takes chances that we shouldn’t. He is, however, a brilliant consultant. And yes, Holmes the younger did confront Jeff Hope. Luckily, we were able to gather enough evidence to convict him.”  
The young man smiled showing a lot of white teeth. “I heard he died in custody.”  
“Not police custody. He was waiting for transfer to Brixton prison when he died of cancer. He knew he was dying. He was trying to kill as many as he could before.”  
“Robert Ansley,” Lord Bollens said with a motion of his drink. “Do forgive him. His job is to be the devil’s advocate in most situations.”  
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Ansley.”  
“Robert, please. We’re all friends here. You might find it interesting, Lestrade, we were just discussing crime and its impact on the current socio-political situation in the middle east and trade.”  
“Oil, right? Greg said easily.  
Ansley smiled. “It’s a little more complicated than that, but essentially. Yes.”  
Greg was handed a cup of tea. At almost the same time, he stopped understanding the conversation. Except for the fact that his nation had more to do with commerce in other nations than was probably right.  
Greg drank his cup and even sat through lunch.  
The moment his plate was cleared, he leaned into Mycroft and whispered, “I’m going to go get that tour. Yeah.”  
Just for Ansley’s sake he squeezed Mycroft’s hand before he stood and said, “Please forgive me, gentlemen. I have something that I have to do.”  
And, Greg left.  
Greg walked towards the coat closet. He wasn’t surprised when Armstrong found him there.  
“Ready for that tour, Detective Inspector?”  
“Yeah,” Greg said putting his coat on. “Are you here the whole time?”  
“No. My security clearance doesn’t privy me to what’s going to be discussed over the next few days. Low priority discussions are today only. The staff will be cleared out except for the cook who will be monitored and confined to the kitchens during those times that she’s here.”  
“You’re telling me that I’m going to be the only security in this house?”  
“Normally, we have a three man team roving, but Mr. Holmes insisted.”  
After a moment, Greg said, “I need that tour.”  
To say that the security facilities were impressive was an understatement. The top floors of the security house served as bunk downs. The ground floor was an open floor plan which held a kitchen, common area, and several weapons cages. The cages held a beautiful collection of toys.  
Down stairs passed a steel reinforced emergency door, sensors, and a biometrics accessed elevator was a control room that looked more military than civilian. He was interest to see that there was radar, along with traffic control, monitoring of civilian and military planes, infrared, and heat sensing. His tax dollars at work.  
Greg asked a lot of questions. All was answered without issue. He was actually surprised how easy it was. It made him wondered what kind of clearance Mycroft had given him.  
He was given a security pass, a radio, and a call sign. He was even asked if he needed yet another weapon. Did he need more ammo?  
He wasn’t sure what Mycroft had done or said, but he was sure that Armstrong had gotten the wrong impression. By the end of the tour they were back at Rotham House. Armstrong stood stiffly and gingerly asked, “The past five years I’ve been responsible for the on-site security. Has this situation changed?”  
“I’m interested in making sure that Mycroft is safe. That’s all. You know your job. I’m not going to meddle. I’m just an extra set of hands for the time being.”  
The man seemed relieved.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dinner would have been beyond dull if it hadn’t been for the ear bud resonating what was happening on the radio clipped into his belt. Greg pulled out his note book. Based on the chatter he was able to jot down all of the names of the security personnel on shift. He was able to trace patrol paths, watch points, and shift change times.  
Based on his notes he was able to write down additional questions for Armstrong.  
Before he knew it, Mycroft was squeezing his shoulder. Greg smiled and followed everyone out of the dining room. As part of their dessert, Lord Bollens proudly produced a dusty bottle of that was older than Greg. He happily regaled all present of the negotiations that had to take place so he could acquire it. The others applauded as Greg wondered if it had been worth it.  
Greg was more than happy to take the glass that offered to him with the little bit of deep, dark wine. Greg tipped the glass up to the light and marveled. The color was as beautiful as it was pure. When he stuck his nose in the glass and inhaled he found a very familiar nose.  
“Gregory,” Mycroft said quietly but concerned.  
“I know this,” Greg insisted. He tipped the glass and sipped a taste into his mouth. Immediately, his face fell and tears gathered in his eyes.  
He felt Mycroft’s hand on his shoulder.  
“When grand-père died he left me a bottle to toast to him.” He swallowed hard as he blinked the tears out of his eyes. “My apologies, my Lord. It’s excellent.”  
Lord Bollens set the bottle down and insisted, “My given name is Andrew. Perhaps your mistaken?”  
Greg held the glass up. “This is a 1936 Du’cate de vin Lestrade. Even if I hadn’t tasted it, I’d know that label anywhere. It’s the last that was ever printed with the gold seal.”  
Lord Bollens looked down at the bottle and then back up at Greg. “This wine is extremely rare, Gregory. Where did your grand-père acquire it?”  
Greg smiled sadly. “My family ran the winery. We lost it all by the end of World War II. Only a hundred or so bottles survived the bombings.”  
Lord Bollens went still. “It was my understanding that 30 bottles-  
“Were sold. My family was destitute. They fled France, all but my grand-oncle  
Etienne. He stayed in the business, buying and selling till he died.”  
“Etienne Du’cate-Lestrade was your grand uncle?” In the next breath he said, “I’ll pay top dollar for any bottle you’re willing to sell me. I’ll even allow you to use Mycroft for final negotiations.”  
Greg sighed. “I was an orphan by the time I was 16. Those bottles are family heirlooms.”  
Lord Bollens looked at him incredulously, “I have a Lestrade in my home and you hold out on me because of sentimentality! Mycroft! Say something!”  
“I’m neither his husband nor master, Andrew,” Mycroft said swirling his wine glass.  
“Yeah,” Greg agreed quickly. “The whips and chains don’t come out till Saturday night.”  
Those present laughed. Ansley was the only who sat quietly watching Greg out of the corner of his eye.  
“Seriously,” Lord Bollens said. “Gregory. Please. This is too great an opportunity.”  
Greg thought for a moment and finally said, “I wouldn’t sell any of them. There’s only one condition under which I’ll open a bottle.”  
“What’s that?” The man said leaning in.  
Greg leaned in as well and said, “If Mycroft and I get married. On that day, I’ll open my vault and you can pick the bottle you like best.  
To his surprise, Lord Bollens smiled widely and shook Greg’s hand on it. “Very good,” the man said. “Very good indeed!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Later that night, Mycroft and he were finally able to close the door to their suite. Greg could feel the conversation in the air. Instead of encouraging it, Greg pulled his sweater up and over his head.  
“I can hear the little gears in your head turning,” he said as reached for his suitcase. It was empty.  
“This one is yours,” Mycroft said pointing to a dresser. Then he stood elegantly and flatly stated, “You are heir to a wine dynasty.”  
“Hardly,” Gregg scoffed. He pulled out a nice set of sweats and a long sleeve t-shirt. “I’m dirt poor. I just happen to have a few nice family heirlooms.”  
Mycroft shook his head. “Clearly there is great deal wrong with the extent of the backgrounds my office conducts.”  
“How far back do you go?” Greg asked as he undressed.  
Greg was aware of Mycroft’s eyes following his movements.  
Mycroft seemed to falter in the conversation, but when he caught up he said, “Infancy.”  
Bare-chested, he turned to see if Mycroft was serious.  
“Adults can fake a great deal. Parents don’t usually for children. Also, it’s hard to go back and fix original documents. Clearly, I have to go back farther.”  
“Clearly,” Greg said as he slid his hands off in favor of the soft sweat pants. “You’re going to have to fix that gap in your intelligence.”  
Greg turned as he let his waistband snap into place. What he saw was extremely interesting. Mycroft was sitting on the bed staring intently at Greg’s lower extremities. Realizing that he’d been caught, Mycroft looked away.  
Greg sauntered up to him and sat down far too close to him. He leaned into the other man and said, “There’s surveillance equipment in the room, Mr. Holmes. I think loud, messy, monkey sex is going to have to wait for a few days.”  
Mycroft responded by saying, “I know where you keep your bottles.”  
Greg stroked up Mycroft’s ear with his tongue.  
“So do I,” Greg whispered. “When I fuck you and you’re begging me for more, It won’t be with a bloody audience.”  
“There’s no honor in teasing me, my dear Detective Inspector.”  
Greg met Mycroft’s gaze.  
They stared at each other.  
“Do something for me,” Greg said. “Dress well for bed. I don’t need a reminder of what I can’t have tonight.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After breakfast, the other men retired behind the thick wooden doors of the library.  
Greg swept the house and then found himself very much alone with nothing productive to do. He wasn’t in the mood for either television or reading the books he’d packed.  
Instead, he went to the kitchen. He set his radio on the counter to broadcast and went through the cupboards. The menu on the board for the day’s lunch advertised potato and leek soup with a warm vegetable salad. It was his understanding that due to the meetings in progress. All food preparations were happening off-site and being driven in. Food would be warmed and served on-site.  
He did not feel in the way as he pulled out several fancy pieces of equipment and lots of pantry supplies. In less than 30 minutes Greg had a double portion of bread dough rising. And a quick cake batter was sitting off to the side ready to go into the pans.  
Greg did another quick walk through of the house. The checks were processing as expected. Nothing out of the ordinary. All chatter on the radio was normal. Nice and boring.  
Greg happily walked back to the kitchen. He punched down the bread dough. Then he buttered and lined his cake pans. Before pouring his batter and setting the pans in the hot oven.  
Earlier, he’d heard central mention that the cook would be arriving around 1030 hours. It was 1031 hours when each patrol in turn called it in as the car drove up. Greg met the car at the back door. Despite the cold Greg walked out without his coat and greeted the woman. He helped carry in the four thermal boxes full of food.  
The woman was friendly enough but Greg had no problem assuring her that he could handle it. Warming soup and setting out salad wasn’t rocket science. He let her provide him with warnings and reminders and then he sent her on her way.  
Greg spent the next hour handling four burners and the oven. He set the kettle and fixed two fine pots of tea.  
Everything was ready by the time he heard the voices in the hall. Greg pulled a tray of bacon butties out of the warming oven. He poured green tea into a cup as he saw Mycroft enter the room.  
“Silver streak to control, internal movement towards the kitchen.”  
The radio crackled with confirmation.  
“Where’s the cook?” Lord Bollens asked as he walked in. “Usually, we lunch in the dining room.”  
“I’m sorry, Andrew. I sent her on her way.” Greg handed Mycroft his cup of green tea. “I tried to keep busy, so I cooked. I think I got a little carried away.”  
Norman immediately said, “Fine idea, my boy. Truthfully, we only eat there for security purposes. The dining room is sound proofed, you see.”  
Ansley quickly said, “And it’s still more appropriate than the kitchen. He hasn’t clearance, Norman.”  
“That’s fine,” Norman said taking a stool at the counter. “I’m in no mood to ruin my food with more talk of business. My blood pressure is still up!”  
“I made some butties to go with the soup and salad that was on the menu,” Greg offered.  
“Is that bread I smell?” Andrew said peaking under a napkin.  
“I baked the bread.” Greg handed the man a plate.  
“Really,” Andrew said happily. “I love butties. A personal weakness.”  
Greg really enjoyed playing host. He poured tea. He served soup. He took great pleasure in telling everyone that the brown sauce was as homemade as the bread. The bread, in fact, was a French 14th century family recipe; a secret that had been handed down generation to generation.  
“And he can cook!” Norman proclaimed. “If you let him go you’re a right fool, Mycroft Holmes.”  
“This is excellent!” Andrew agreed.  
“Yes, I’m aware of where the two you stand, and that bottle of wine you’re both can’t wait for.” Mycroft took a bite of his butty.  
Greg leaned into Mycroft’s ear. “The word you’re looking for is mmmm,” he purred.  
Mycroft managed to hold onto his composure gracefully. He turned to Greg and said, “That’s extremely unfair.”  
“I’m not trying to be fair. I’m trying to be a tempting sod.” Suddenly, remembering, Greg said, “Almost forgot. I made a chocolate cake for pudding.”  
“Norman’s a diabetic. Though he pretends otherwise,” Andrew volunteered.  
“Good job,” Ansley murmured.  
“I’m perfectly fine,” Norman rebutted. He bit into his butty.  
Mycroft turned to Gregory and simply said, “If I have weakness for good cake, then he’s a fiend.”  
Suddenly, feeling bad, Greg walked away. He went directly to the walk-in pantry and turned on the light. On the top shelf, he found a plastic cake carrier that he’d spotted earlier. Greg pulled the carrier off the shelf and took it to the kitchen. Silently, he packed up the cake.  
“Now see what you’ve done,” Norman accused. “My boy-  
“I’m sorry, Norman.” Greg added the cake carrier to the things that he had put aside to take down to the security cottage. “I’m not going to be the one that makes you sick.”  
Greg picked up his radio. “Silver streak to control. I need an 11-98 at the barn.”  
“10-4,” the female voice responded.  
Greg went through the box on last time. As an after thought he put a few good tea bags into a baggie along with a couple pouches of hot chocolate. He heard the response from the approaching car as it made it’s way to the house. Greg picked up the box of goodies and walked it outside.  
The white unmarked car pulled up. The security officer inside was wearing all white with a white balaclava over his face.  
Greg walked to the passengers side, opened the door, and placed the box inside. “Get it down there, mate. Bread’s still warm.”  
He walked quickly back inside rubbing his hands together. It was just cold enough that the brief tryst made him shiver a bit. He sat down to a hot, milky cup of tea and a bowl of soup.  
Three sips into Greg’s meal and Mycroft took a call immediate walking away from the table.  
Five minutes later, Mycroft stepped back into the kitchen and called Greg away.  
They stepped into the hall.  
Quietly, Mycroft said, “That was my mother. Apparently, she’s called 221B Baker Street and was informed by my brother that we are here with in visitation distance.”  
“I thought you’d already told her.”  
“Yes, but I told her we weren’t arriving for two more days so that I’d have time to work unimpeded.”  
Greg smiled.  
“You probably shouldn’t smile so, I told her that I was working but that you were available.”  
“And she’s willing to settle for me?”  
Mycroft diplomatically said, “She will ply you with tea and biscuits. She will ask a thousand questions. Don’t lie to her. She can smell a lie or a half-truth. The results of which are harrowing.”  
“So basically, Mummy Holmes is scary.”  
A little smile appeared on Mycroft’s face. “Let us say that she can be formidable.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Greg sat just outside the sauna with one of his magazine’s. It was mostly motorcycles, the famously rich who could afford them, and a few light articles. Pretty things to look at that he’d never be able to afford on his salary. Nothing better to do while the sauna got nice and hot.  
The door opened and everyone poured in. All were still talking intently about whatever. It took Greg a moment to figure out that they were discussing tea.  
He stood and waited.  
Greg happily prepared to hand out towels. The older men disrobed. Greg gave each two towels and waited for Mycroft.  
When Mycroft finally walked in through the door, Greg let his eyes wander. Pale freckled skin. Long legs. It was clear that he worked to many hours behind a desk but he made and effort. Gregory appreciated the effort at that moment.  
Unfortunately, he also saw something that he didn’t like. He handed Mycroft his towels and then went to stand at his side. Greg didn’t hesitate to pull the man’s swim trunks down exposing his hip more. He felt the long line of scarred skin.  
“Gun shot?”  
“They missed,” Mycroft said gently.  
Greg walked around and found something. A four inch scar on his otherwise perfect back. He traced the wounds.  
“Stabbing,” Mycroft said simply. “He was fast.”  
“When I keep exploring and I going to find any other-  
“No,” Mycroft turned to him and said, “I don’t do field work any more.”  
Greg fell quiet. When he spoke it was say, “I’m starting to understand Lieutenant Weaver more and more.”  
Greg took one of Mycroft’s towels from his hand. Greg took a little bit of pleasure in putting a towel around Mycroft’s shoulders and smoothing it into place.  
Mycroft turned his head just enough to look at Greg. They didn’t speak.  
A moment later, Mycroft walked in to the sauna leaving Gregory alone.  
Greg smiled. He didn’t hesitate to pull his shirt over his head.  
“What? No towel for me? I thought you were playing sauna slave?”  
Greg didn’t even bother to look. He grabbed his towels and walked in. he found a place next to Mycroft and set a towel down for himself. He wrapped the other one around himself. He stretched out easily so he could enjoy the heat.  
Greg wasn’t surprised when Ansley walked in wearing a small pair of trunks that showed a young, well chiseled body. He strutted in and gracefully laid himself out.  
Greg put his arm loosely around Mycroft so that it sat more on the high bench behind them rather than on Mycroft’s shoulders. They were already starting to sweat. Greg tipped his head back and enjoyed the steam.  
“So, Gregory,” Ansley’s voice cut through the steam. “What’s it like being a detective inspector? Working a beat and all that.”  
Greg didn’t even bother to lift his head. “If I thought for a second that you actually were interested, I’d answer.”  
“But I am,” the man insisted. “Didn’t you set all manner of records last year for most cases solved by someone else and most times falling into the Thames?”  
Greg wiped his forehead. He bothered to look at Ansley.  
“Child. You are not a threat to me. You’re hardly a man. But, I am going to warn you. Don’t insult the service of a man’s whose serious enough to put his skin on the line. And judging by the three bullet wounds, two stabbings and miscellaneous sewn up flesh that I saw walk in here, I think everyone in here will understand, except maybe for you.” Greg had no problem saying, “You have a real nice body. Tells me how much time you spend in the gym. No real experience to speak of, no sacrifice. Probably go you job from your family. You’re not worth the bother.”  
Greg leaned back and closed his eyes. He hid the smile as best he could. Even when he felt Mycroft squeeze his thigh approvingly.  
“Norman,” Andrew called.  
Greg perked up.  
Norman was red-faced and a bit distressed. He tried and failed to get up.  
Greg jumped up and helped him up. “Let’s get some air, mate.”  
Greg helped Norman out and into cooler air.  
Earlier, he’d prepared two large pitchers of lemonade with sugar and pinch of salt for re-hydration purposes. He didn’t hesitate to get the man a tall glass.  
“I have an insensitive question. It’s impertinent as well, come to think of it.”  
Greg sat next to the man. “Sounds like a good question. Is it about sex?”  
“In a roundabout way. I hear tell that you were married…to a woman.”  
“Right until she started shagging one of her co-workers behind my back.” Greg reached for the glass in Norman’s hand and pushed it up for the man encouraging him to drink. “I even tried to reconcile, but she wanted what I couldn’t give her, my undivided attention. I wasn’t willing to leave my career, and she found some idiot willing to worship her.”  
Gregg topped off Norman’s glass.  
“If there had been a way to fix it. I would have.”  
“I thought…  
“I’m bisexual, and sex doesn’t really have much to do with it. Divorce is just so bloody painful. It takes two people who were good friends for years and turns you into blood enemies. Towards the end I didn’t even have the strength to fight her. Much to her annoyance, I asked for my clothes, my wines, and my car. I let her keep everything so I could walk away.”  
Norman suddenly look upset.  
“My turn to ask an impertinent question. Can you fix it with her?”  
Norman looked away. “I’m afraid that I’m in a difficult place. My wife and I never had children. I always promised that we might adopt…later.”  
“And later never came.”  
“Didn’t seem like the right time.”  
“She want’s it? At your age? I’m assuming she’s mature as well.”  
Norman chuckled.  
“Both over 50 and too old to be parents. But she insists.”  
“Is she lonely?”  
Norman suddenly look guilty. “She keeps busy. I bought her a dog. She made it a wardrobe. She decorated our home herself.”  
Greg sat back, slumping bonelessly. “Do you love her?”  
“I try to give her-  
“Do you love her?”  
“Very much.”  
“Then do what ever you need to do. Start small. I don’t know…take in a foreign exchange student or a foster. Maybe your church has a family in distress who could use a place to stay. Something, Norman. But, give her something.”  
Norman didn’t speak.  
“If you ignore it, she’ll leave. Or worse, she’ll find someone else. Are you comfortable with looking the other way? It hurts. Worse than you want to know.”  
They kept talking quietly for a time. The others stepped out of the sauna twice. Showering and cooling in-between sessions. Greg made sure that they hydrated, but didn’t leave Norman’s side.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After lunch, Greg changed his clothes. He wore one of his new suits. He even brushed his hair carefully and cemented it all into place with a little bit of Mycroft’s gel.  
Before he left the house, Greg called Armstrong and informed him of his current plans to leave the house. Two security officers were re-routed to walk the house. Greg gave his report which included where the men were, and how long he expected them to stay there. With that he pulled up his coat collar and left.  
Greg followed Mycroft’s directions and he still almost missed the house. The snow covered everything in sight creating natural camouflage. The trees wore snow caps. Everything was highlighted in shades of white, grey, and brown. The house stood down a long road lined with grey shaded treys crusted in ice. It made seeing the house from the road difficult.  
At the end of the winding road sat a large, comfortable looking country home. He’d half expected a mansion. The cobbled road gave way to a brick entrance lined with many bright ceramic and terra cotta pots, some still with dead plants in them. He was terribly surprised by how normal it all looked.  
Greg removed his gloves and knocked on the large wooden door.  
The door opened almost immediately. Mummy Holmes was an elegant, slightly round woman that appeared to only have a little black left in her hair making it seem steal colored.  
“You must be Detective Inspector Lestrade! Oh, do come in! You must be frozen, poor lamb!”  
She had the same blue grey eyes that Sherlock used to cut through people, but she had all the warmth that he’d expected in a mother.  
Greg was hustled inside. His coat, scarf, and gloves were taken. He was led to a small drawing room. The fire was roaring, warming the room perfectly. On the table a tray had been prepared. She proceeded to feed him sweet, milky tea and home made scones as she regaled him with Sherlock and Mycroft anecdotes.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Mycroft was growing concerned. Even at her most chatty, his mother wouldn’t have kept Gregory past sun down. Not during winter when driving conditions were poor to begin with. Logically, he knew that Gregory was due to arrive at any moment. He glanced at his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes as he considered whether or not to send a car out to check the roads. All the side country roads that spiraled out between Rotham and his childhood home would have to be checked, after dusk. It was easy to become confused is a person was not accustomed. One road looked much like the next.  
The tank was full when he’d left London. The Jaguar XJ held a tank capacity of 82.14 liters. Sixteen kilometers of city driving to the highway, eighty highway kilometers driven at an average of 65 kilometers, and then 18 kilometers of country roads at 40 kilometers. 5.7 kilometers to mummy’s house. 11.4 round trip. He estimated a possible 3.4 gallons in the tank of overage if he did get lost. Suddenly, he was kicking himself for not getting the Bentley Continental GT which had a 90 liter gas capacity. He also could have gotten a reserve battery.  
Would Gregory know to press the panic button to call for help, or would his pride keep him traveling in the snow?  
Suddenly, Andrew cut through his thoughts, “Mycroft, is everything alright?”  
He was suddenly aware that what ever was being discussed was suspended for that one question. He consciously smoothed his face out and gave the most reassuring smile that he knew.  
“Everything is-  
Mycroft’s phone rang.  
“Please, do excuse me. This is important.”  
Mycroft walked away. He was unsurprised when he saw his mother’s name flash across his phone’s screen.  
“What’s happened?”  
“Really,” Mikey! Is that how you were taught to answer the phone?”  
“Apologies, mummy. I was only concerned. Are you well?”  
“More than well, my dear. Gregory is a charming man. We’ve talked and talked. We cooked as well. Did you know that he cooks? We made Sheppard’s pie with lamb not beef, honey carrots, and Gregory baked an herbed sourdough loaf.”  
“That’s all of my favorites,” Mycroft said a little lost at the unfairness of life.  
“He’s so handy in the kitchen, Mycroft.”  
“Yes. I know, Mummy. It all sounds quite wonderful.”  
“We expect you in half and hours time.”  
“Mummy, I can’t.”  
“Pish, posh! They have to allow you a break to eat a little something. A half hour, Mikey.”  
Mycroft inhaled. He felt all of five. He exhaled, “Yes, Mummy.”  
Mycroft walked back into his meeting at bit weary.  
“Should we be worried,” Norman asked quickly.  
“Yes, a great deal. It seems that Gregory and my mother are conspiring against me. I must immediately depart for dinner or there will be hell to pay.”  
Andrew chuckled. “That’s how it starts. You should tell Greg that I’ve decided on the 1924 Du’cate de vin Lestrade for the wedding toast. As far as the world is concerned it’s an extinct vintage.”  
Just as seriously, Mycroft responded, “1924? And not the 1917? You surprise me, Andrew. I thought you were a connoisseur.”  
Mycroft walked out and called for a driver and a car. He sat in the back and had the man drive him to his mother’s home. They made it in 28 minutes. Mycroft thanked and dismissed the man.  
The door opened. The warmth and smell of home greeted him with a thousand memories. His mother embraced him and he kissed her soft cheek.  
“Inside. Inside,” she insisted. “You’ll catch your death.”  
She took his coat saying, “You’re so tall. Just like your father. All freckles and long legs.”  
“I only came to visit the Sheppard’s pie.” Mycroft straightened his tie. “I have it on good authority that it is worth visiting.”  
She took his arm. “I wish I’d had dumber children. My life would have been ever so much simpler.”  
“So you remind me at every visit,” he said patting her hand. “I trust that you had a satisfactory visit with the Detective Inspector?”  
“I can’t remember a nicer afternoon in recent memory. You should have brought him sooner. You know my little Sherlock forgets to call. He so worries me.”  
“I know, Mummy. But Gregory does know all that is happening with Sherlock. Second best but accurate information, I assure you.”  
“Is he single?”  
Mycroft hesitated but did confirm that the man, in fact, was.  
They entered the warm kitchen to find Gregory at the table slicing bread. He’d removed his coat for a plain black apron. He smiled brightly when he saw Mycroft escorting his mother to the table.  
“You must have been timing it. Dinner is ready and the perfect temperature.”  
Mycroft helped his mother to her seat.  
“This looks incredible,” Mycroft said amazed. He couldn’t help the smile. It had been too long since he’d been home. “Mummy, you shouldn’t have done all this.”  
“Me?” she giggled. “Your mother is too old and doesn’t care to stand for longer than necessary. But, Gregory follows directions very well.”  
“I got the recipe. Lamb with beef gravy with just a knife’s tip of cinnamon. Savory, butter, and little garlic in the potatoes.”  
Delighted, Mrs. Holmes clasped her hands into prayer pose in front of her. “He’s promised to make you a casserole.”  
Greg ladled out a heaping portion onto Mycroft’s plate as he said, “Figured I might share with John. He handle’s the cooking after all.”  
“He doesn’t cook that often. Don’t they mostly live on take away?”  
“Well,” Greg said continuing to serve. “Perhaps I’ll run over a casserole on one of those occasions when the brat isn’t pissing me off.”  
Greg and Mycroft looked at each other and laughed.  
“You’re right,” Greg said still smiling. “I’ll run one over when he’s not there and hope there isn’t a foot in the freezer.”  
“He’s simply curious about how the world works. Sherlock has always been like that. Curious. Thoughtful.”  
“And in search of remains.”  
She gave Mycroft a stern look.  
“Mummy,” he said gently. “You know how important it is to clean up after his curiosity. We are fortunate that he’s found a stable and reliable person with which to cohabitate.”  
“You forgot saintly,” Greg sat down and put his napkin in his lap. He leaned towards mother Holmes and said, “My apologies, but if I came home tired from work only to step in a tub full of human entrails and then get blamed for ruining an experiment, I’d pull my gun. John goes to the pub, throws back a few, and then heads back for more.”  
“He doesn’t eat most of the time,” Mycroft said thoughtfully.  
“Thought I’d make little pots instead of a big pan. That way they can pull out what they need and it can be stacked around anything objectionable.”  
Mycroft nodded. “A sound plan.”  
That settled, Mycroft spooned mint jelly onto his plate. He began eating, savoring every bite.  
When they were done. Gregory immediately offered to do the dishes. Mycroft loathed the idea of his elderly mother having to wash so much. Even with a dishwasher there was a great deal to content with.  
“I shall help,” Mycroft said removing his cuff links so he could roll his sleeves up.  
They met at the sink. They began to work together. At first it was a silent affair, but slowly they began talking about a lot of little things. Nothing important. Just little bits of their day.  
They were finished and drying their hands when Mycroft heard his mother call his name. Mycroft set the kitchen towel aside and began walking towards her when he saw the look on her face.  
“Mummy,” Mycroft asked already concerned. He knew that look.  
She was sitting in her chair by the fire. Like a hungry tiger in the dark. He came to stop in front of her.  
“Closer,” she snapped.  
His stomach tightened, but he bravely took those two steps closer.  
She kept her tone civil, but he knew better. “Half-truths are a form of deceit. I’ll not tolerate it in my house.”  
Mycroft pulled a seat close and asked, “I don’t understand.”  
“You obviously use the word friend with more freedom than most. How could you not tell me that you have found a…”  
“The preferred term is partner, and I assure you that is not the case. We are friends.”  
She huffed and turned her head.  
“Mrs. Holmes,” Greg said easily. “He’s not lying. We haven’t even kissed. Thinking about it, but-  
She shot out of her chair in a manner that belied her years. “That is easily remedied. Go on!” she said suggestively.  
“I shall do no such thing in front of my mother! Cease wiggling your finger, woman!”  
“Your mother is old. How many years can you possibly imagine that I have left?”  
Mycroft exhaled. “It’s never good for me when you begin with guilt.”  
“All I want in this life is to see my children marry.” Suddenly, she exploded shouting, “I don’t care how!” She began pacing. “Sherlock was so beautiful when he was young. Like an angel and he excelled at drawing away potential matches. You remember the Jamison girl!”  
“Everyone remembers the Jamison girl, mummy.”  
She stood in front of Mycroft, dwarfed almost by half, but with twice the fire. “I demand beauty. I demand the ritual. I demand a day where I can proudly stand with one,” she began to break down tearfully. “ Of. My. Sons. At. An. Al. Tar.”  
“Mummy,” Mycroft said taking her hand. “It’s just that our jobs are complicated and demanding. We haven’t sorted anything out.”  
Her eyes were still teary. She didn’t hesitate to turn to Gregory and demand, “What are your intentions towards my boy?”  
Greg didn’t have to think much. “I’d like to kiss him. I’d like many…physical acts. We joked about getting married to his friends.”  
“Entirely your fault. Did you have to offer that bottle of wine? Andrew will never drop it.”  
Greg smiled. “Mycroft, marrying you would be the only circumstances under which I’d open ‘any’ of those bottles. They’re heirlooms.”  
“Ah,” Mrs. Holmes said pleased. “Now kiss him.”  
“Mummy,” Mycroft growled.  
“Fine. Fine,” she said walking away. “You were always so shy.”  
She turned the lights off and walked out of the room.  
“Did that really just happen?”  
Mycroft slid his hands into his pants pockets as he looked out of the open doorway. “You are fooling no one!”  
“Very well!” Mrs. Holmes resonated from the hallway. Another light went out darkening the kitchen a bit more, leaving the fireplace as the only source of light.  
Greg shrugged. “Maybe is should have kept my mouth shut.”  
Mycroft turned to him in the half-light. “How convenient that this occurs to you now.”  
Greg’s head dropped. “I’d apologize, but I really don’t want to feel bad about this. I prefer to think that I’m standing by the fire light with a handsome and sexy man, rather than being forced by his mum.”  
“Gregory,” Mycroft admonished. “You are encouraging the situation.”  
“There are five days left to this retreat. We’re not going to kiss there. Least here we have an audience of only one.”  
Mycroft looked up at Gregory.  
“Doest that door lock?”  
Mycroft turned towards the door. He didn’t move.  
“Should I lock it?” Greg asked, the hesitation and uncertainty clearly heard.  
Mycroft didn’t answer.  
Instead, he walked slowly to the kitchen door. He reached out and turned the latch locking it.  
Mycroft smiled wickedly at the door.  
“Guess we’re alone,” Greg took a step towards Mycroft.  
When Mycroft turned there was a smile on his face that was visible even in the low light. He took a step towards Greg. “Sometimes anticipation builds expectations into the unrealistic.”  
Greg took a step. “And sometimes the wait is worth it.”  
On his next step Mycroft found himself within reach of a man he’d only been able to fantasize about.  
Greg shrugged. “One kiss. First touch. If you don’t fancy me after, we part friends.”  
In the fire light those brown eyes looked like melted chocolate. Mycroft reached up and touched Greg’s cheek. A bit scratchy with evening shadow, he guided the man closer.  
The first touch of their lips was soft, gentle. They explored. Testing each other. Teasing each other. The energy between them built quickly despite the slow process. Mycroft hardly remembered sliding his hands over Greg’s back until he could run his fingers through the silky silver strands that he’d wanted to feel for far longer than he was willing to admit.  
Mycroft felt Greg cup his buttocks. He truly became aware of the other man’s grip when he was squeezed and pulled into Greg’s already swollen groin.  
Unawares, they both broke out in a sheen of sweat. Kisses became messier. Teeth gnashed. Perfect. The promise of much more was clearly spelled out in each touch.  
It was Greg that pulled away. “Kitchen,” he gasped.  
Mycroft swallowed hard and nodded despite his body’s urgent demands.  
“Mycroft?” Greg said pressing his forehead to Mycroft’s.  
“Mmm,” Mycroft grunted.  
“That rubbish about parting as friends. Forget I said it.”  
“Kiss him again!” Mrs. Holmes said loudly over the intercom.  
“Turn that off this instant! Or, I shall break up with Gregory just to spite you!”  
The intercom near the door made a ‘click’ sound, and then all was silent.  
Greg leaned his forehead on Mycroft’s shoulder. “I think I am starting to see where Sherlock gets it from.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They drove silently back towards Rotham House. It felt repressive and a little depressing. Greg waited until he could just see the lights of Rotham House and the outline of the building by the moon light.  
He picked up his radio and keyed it, “Silver streak to control.”  
“Silver streak this is control. Is there a problem? Your vehicle has stopped.”  
“Yeah, there’s a problem. We’re camera shy and I want to snog my boyfriend.”  
“Gregory,” Mycroft huffed scandalized.  
“It’s true and you know it.” Greg keyed the radio again. “Turn off the heat sensors, radar, infrared, and whatever ever else you have pointed at us and give us five bloody minutes of privacy. Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking for.”  
“Stronghold to unit one. Do you have visual?”  
“Confirm, sir.”  
“Maintain visual only, unless there’s a problem. Good as it’s going to get Silver streak.”  
“Ta, mate.”  
Greg put the radio on the dash board. He unbuckled his belt, and smiled.  
“This is,” Mycroft’s tongue stalled when Greg leaned over unnecessarily close to unbuckle Mycroft’s belt. “A bit juvenile.”  
Greg leaned in further so he could kiss Mycroft’s ear as he reached for the man’s seat control. Greg pulled the lever and sent Mycroft back. Greg didn’t hesitate to reach for his own seat control. He reclined his seat and turned onto his side.  
“Come over here,” he said gently.  
Mycroft turned onto his side and slide a bit closer.  
Greg met him in a kiss.  
They kissed and explored as far as suits and coats would allow. They weren’t keen on undressing in a cold car, still they were unwilling to let such an opportunity pass.  
Slowly, the chill of the night ebbed away as the car interior warmed. They sound of soft kisses and resonating moans filled the air.  
Armstrong made a nuisance of himself calling on them for a check every other minute or so. Greg grew progressively short with the man. It didn’t help that they were both sweaty, and sporting painful erections.  
Mycroft turned away enough to say, “If we keep this up, I shall have permanent damage.”  
Greg rolled away onto his back. He stretched and filled his lungs with air so that he could speak. Greg felt his lips pulse in time with his cock. His sight was a little blurry. And, he felt a bit dizzy. “Haven’t done that since I was sixteen.”  
“I need a cold shower,” Mycroft stated flatly.  
“Together?” Greg asked.  
Mycroft struggled to sit up. “Start the car, Gregory.”  
Greg sat up quickly. The seat wasn’t even adjusted properly when he started the car and started driving as safely as his twisting insides allowed.  
“Strong arm to Silver streak your asset is needed at the barn. ASAP.”  
“On our way,” Greg responded still frustrated that the man didn’t leave off.  
Greg didn’t even park the car. He simply stopped in front of the door and turned off the motor.  
“Last one in,” Greg said with a smile.  
Mycroft got as far as the bottom step and waited. He turned and offered his hand to Gregory.  
They started up the front steps of Rotham House when the front door burst open.  
Lord Bollen’s face was bright red. His eyes wide. “Cicero!” he shouted. “Cicero’s gone tits up!”  
With that the nobleman ran off back down the hall towards the library.  
“No,” Mycroft gasped. “That’s not possible.”  
Mycroft ran without releasing Gregory. Distance pulled them apart.  
A part of Greg felt as if they bottom had fallen out. 


	3. It’s Hard To Do

Mycroft didn’t walk out of the library until the next day. It was close to eight in the morning when the snick of the soundproof seal and the cluck of brass hardware ran a streak of panic up Greg’s spine instantly waking him from the light buzz of sleep.   
Greg sat up a bit more realizing that he’d fallen asleep where he’d sat the previous night. Like a faithful dog, he’d sat outside the library and not moved. Worse case scenarios of all type ran through his head until he’d finally gotten some kind of sleep. Judging by only the slight crick in his neck and the still there heavy feeling of exhaustion, he’d only gotten an hour or so.   
Mycroft looked worn. His jacket was on his arm. His sleeves were rolled up. And, his hair was out of place. His face was tight. Sad.  
He stood in front of Greg and asked, “Did you sleep at all?”  
“Did you?”  
Mycroft didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “I need a shower and a fresh suit. A helicopter will be here to transfer me soon.”  
Mycroft didn’t elaborate. He started walking. Greg got up and followed him upstairs to their room.  
Mycroft walked silently into the ensuite. Greg went to Mycroft’s closet. He took his time picking out a suit and a tie. Then, he found just the right shoes. In Mycroft’s dresser he found pants, an undershirt, and socks. He went to the bathroom and walked in with the clothes. The pale figure behind the steamy glass didn’t make a sound. He left the clothes and quietly left.   
Greg sat down at the dark, wooden table in their room and waited for what he knew was coming.  
It took Mycroft sometime, but when he emerged again he was Mycroft Holmes. The man in control of himself, and the world.  
He met Mycroft’s eyes and said, “You don’t have to. I get it.”  
Mycroft looked away. “I can have you flown back to London.”  
“It’s a waste. I’d rather drive back.” Greg shrugged. “I’ll leave your car keys with Lieutenant Weaver and pick my car up.”  
Mycroft walked to the dresser and found his cufflinks.  
“One thing,” Greg said wilting onto the table slightly. “Why?”  
Mycroft didn’t hesitate to answer. “I got my promotion early on. Not because I excelled but because someone took exception and put a bomb in my predecessors car. Security missed it. His wife and children died.”   
Mycroft went to the closet and stepped inside.   
“My predecessor, a man that I admired, lost his mind that day.” The Mycroft that emerged from the closet was not the Mycroft that he’d spent the last few days with. This was the Mycroft from five years ago who kidnapped a Detective Inspector in broad daylight using veiled threats and a nice car.  
“You are a weakness I can not afford.”  
The pounding sound of rotor blades beating the air caught their attention.  
“I must go.”  
“Nothing’s changed,” Greg said quickly. “Call me when you need me, and I’m there.”  
The mask didn’t fall. It didn’t change. The cold man simply left without missing or slowing a step.  
Greg stared at the door. He kept watching and hoping. Even after he couldn’t hear the helicopter blades pounding the air any longer.  
When the door didn’t open. When nothing changed for them. When there was no unification kiss. Greg got up and laid down.  
To exhausted to fight, Greg slipped away into oblivion.  
He woke up lethargic and annoyed. The sound of his phone’s shrill sound destroyed the silence. Greg wrestled with his trouser’s pocket until his phone was in his hand. He had half a mind to throw it across the room. Only the faint hope that it was Mycroft made him keep some civility towards it.  
He answered with a grunt.  
“Thank God,” the little voice sobbed. “I didn’t want to bother Mycroft. Don’t.” The phone shifted. “Don’t bother him.” There was a sob. “Gregory. I think I hurt myself.”  
“Mrs. Holmes?” Greg sat up. “What kind of hurt? The kind where you need a plaster? Or the kind where I drive you to a hospital?”  
She sobbed. There was a wet sniff. “Greg, I think I might have broken something.”  
He was already moving.  
She sobbed. “I’m in a great deal of pain.”  
“I’m on the phone with you and I’m not hanging up. Everything is going to be alright. I promise.”  
Greg ran down the stairs. Armstrong met him at the bottom of the stairs.  
Greg covered the phone with his hand. “Mrs. Holmes is hurt. How far is the nearest hospital?”  
“We had a medical team on standby for the conference, but they’ve been sent back. The closet hospital is ten miles away.”  
“Call. Have them send an ambulance. I’ll meet them on the scene. Sounds like an accident, not an attack. Don’t disturb Mr. Holmes.” Greg headed towards Mycroft’s keys hanging by the door on a carefully labeled peg board. “I’ll call his phone and tell him myself once I access the scene.”  
Greg burst out of the door. The car had been moved out of the way. He remotely unlocked it.  
Once inside, Greg set the phone on the custom perch and set it to speaker mode. “Are you still there, Mrs. Holmes?”  
“Yes,” she huffed.  
Greg found the right button on the fob and laser cut key sprang out. He started the car and sped out kicking up loose rocks in all directions. He raced down the road far faster than was reasonable or safe.  
“I’ll be there soon. Did you have breakfast?”  
“I don’t eat breakfast. It slows me down. A cup of tea is all.”  
Greg laughed. He couldn’t help it.  
“You’re so much like them both. Every time I talk to you the things you say. The things you do. I love it.”  
“You’d be the first, my dear. Ah. Ah!” she moaned a little.  
“Stop moving around so much.”  
“But my leg. It’s laying awkwardly. And I think I might have sprained my wrist when I fell.” She puffed air in and out audibly a few times. “I need you to help me stand.”  
“No standing! No moving! Don’t move! I’ll be there soon!”  
She sniffed.  
“Talk to me. Please keep talking.”  
“The floor is insufferably cold, and I am on it.” She sniffed again. “I don’t normally carry this phone that Mycroft thrust upon me. I prefer to write a letter. It makes you think more clearly when you put pen to paper. But, today I wore trousers and I slipped it into my pocket. I suppose I was hoping Sherlock would call.”  
“He will,” Greg said making the turn onto the house. The car slid in the slush and sent him sliding along the road until he veered out of control into a ditch. Calmly, he said, “I’m here. I’ll be at the door in a tick.”  
“The key,” she said suddenly. “The loose stone under the yellow flower pot.  
“60 seconds.” Greg insisted.   
He pocketed the phone. He got out of the car not even bothering with the keys. He slammed the door shut only out of habit. And, he ran.  
Instead of running the long way along the road he cut through the field of frozen weeds and mud. The ground was uneven and wet with slush and mud. The cold wetness soaking instantly into his shoes and trousers didn’t slow him. He didn’t stop until he was on the stone entrance to the house. The yellow flower pot was garish and hard to miss. He moved it and quickly found the loose paving stone. Beneath it was a single brass key.”  
He opened the door and called out, “Mummy!”  
“Here!” a tired voice answered. “The dining room.”  
Greg wandered inside and down the hallway. He found the dining room’s double doors opened. Inside the formal room the small woman was laying on the ground next to several ceramic pieces and a toppled over step stool.  
“I broke it,” she sobbed. “My aunt’s platter. I wanted to give it to you and Mycroft.”   
She began crying in earnest.  
“Shh.” He removed his coat and draped it over her. “The ambulance will be here soon.”  
“I broke it,” she whined.  
“It can be fixed,” he said looking the mess over. “It broke into big pieces. Only a few chips. No more crying. You’re going to raise your blood pressure unnecessarily.” He looked around. “I’m going to make some room for the stretcher and paramedics.”   
He picked up one end of the dining table. “Bloody hell! What’s this thing made from!”  
“Solid English oak,” she announced proudly as he struggled to move the table by himself. “I was seriously considering making it a wedding gift to you. My mother-in-law gave it to me. And well, I’ve seen where Sherlock lives. I can’t imagine that he’d ever get any use out of it.”  
“Target practice,” Greg chirped with a little smile.   
Undaunted, she continued, “You and Mycroft will care for it and put it to good use. I’m sure you’ll entertain often.”  
He went to her side and sat down next to her on the cold, wooden floor. He took her hand in his and said, “I really need you to stop giving us all of your stuff because you’re scaring the crap out of me.”  
“No dirty talk, young man,” she snapped. “A well educated man has no need. Manners,” she insisted.  
Greg heard an engine. “They’re here.”  
“No, not yet the windows and shades have to be drawn. Oh, Gregory. I can’t leave the house for any length of time without shutting it properly. The paintings and furniture will ruin with sun and moisture.”  
“Calm down. That’s what friends are for.” He heard someone call out. “In here!” He turned back to her and asked, “Just the shades?”  
“Shade and curtains. The shutters need to be locked in place. The doors locked. The heat set to an automatic 50 degrees.”  
He patted her hand as the paramedics entered.  
Greg moved out of the way and pulled his phone out. He called Armstrong and tasked him with rescuing Mycroft’s car. He also gave the man the job of securing the house.  
“Thanks, mate. I’m going to owe you one.”  
“Or, ten.”  
“Yeah, thanks again.”  
Greg put his phone away and got into the back of the ambulance

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Mycroft was tired. He slid into the plane’s leather seat grateful that things hadn’t gone worse. When he heard about Cicero his blood had run cold. One hundred and twenty seven British intelligence agents around the world embedded in deep cover had their identities suddenly revealed to the world in a data dump that was currently unexplained.  
Emergency extracts had to be arranged all night. It took massive coordinated effort but Mycroft was able to take command so that he could commandeer and out right steal what he needed to get the job done.   
That included three British agents hijacking a yacht in the black sea in order to pull and agent and his family out of a live fire fight in a shipping yard. The live feed saw the agent, his wife, and three little ones rescued without injury.  
During the course of the night, he lost three good agents. Two had their executions posted to the internet for all the world to see. The third died during the night in a mysterious car crash where there were no survivors, witnesses, or suspects.  
The data base that held the information had been Mycroft’s pet project for several years. It coordinated world wide movement of not just British agents but also those of foreign nations working in joint ventures. The information that had been leaked was selective and not a apart of a database that was accessible. The server was independent of outside influences and biometrically protected.  
Mycroft had personally flown to the dummy oil rig sitting off the coast of Ireland for the personnel interrogations of the staff. Mycroft questions everyone individually. All electronic devices were checked. All electronic histories were scoured. At the end, all he had to show for it was two staff members carrying on in an extramarital affair and a security officer with an unhealthy obsession with watching the breasts of female staff via security cameras.   
He was able to confirm that the leak did not come from the rig, which left him with an interesting mystery.  
Mycroft sat back in his seat and let his mind race.   
“Sir?” Anthea called from nearby, phone attached to her ear.  
“There’s a problem. Daniel is telling me that your mother has been to the hospital. Detective Inspector Lestrade is involved.”  
The moment she turned away to speak to whichever Daniel, he lunged for his phone. He saw seven phone messages. He hit the voicemail button and typed in his pass code.  
“Mycroft it’s me. Your mum’s hurt.” The sound of an ambulance wailing could be heard. “She’s awake and making constant demands, so I think she’ll be alright.”  
“Don’t misbehave, Gregory,” he heard his mummy admonish. “You’ll worry the boy.”  
“She fell. I’ll call you from the hospital when I know more. I promise I won’t leave her.”  
He allowed the next message to automatically play.   
“We are in the emergency room now. I had to tell the staff that I’m your fiancé, otherwise they wouldn’t talk to me at all. Your mum has a broken wrist and a broken hip. She’s going into surgery in an hour. I had to get Anthrea’s assistants involved. The hospital wasn’t going to do anything about her surgery until Friday because the surgeon was on a day off. We put a little fire under him. I did call John and Sherlock. They know what’s going on. I’ll call you with an update later.”  
The system advanced.  
“It’s eight pm and she’s out of surgery. She’s in recovery. I just spoke with her. She really wanted tea so I’m on my way to get her good tea, not the dirty water from the machine. Her words, not mine. She’s tired, but alright.”  
The system advanced again.  
“Hi Mycroft. Someone wants to talk to you.”  
There was a shuffling sound.  
“Mikey, it’s your mummy. I’m perfectly fine. You made a fine choice in Gregory. I wanted to tell you that I’m giving you your grandmother’s dining table as a wedding gift. I think a traditional setting would look better in your home. Those modern catastrophes aren’t worthy of the company you keep. Oh, and I dropped your aunt Ida’s platter. Greg is hopeful that it can be repaired, but I don’t know. I suppose we shall leave it to an expert.”  
The phone shuffled again.  
“Ugh, it’s me again. Just to let you know we’ll probably be moving her tomorrow. I left John and the Daniel’s talking about it. I know you’re busy. Call when you get a chance.”  
The next message advanced.  
“Armstrong, the Daniel’s and I seem to have commandeered a medical helicopter. We’re going to London. John’s waiting for us at London Bridge Hospital. I figured you’d want her close by. Call me if you want something else done.”  
The next message advanced.  
“We’re in the hospital. Your mum seems to like her private suite. John has some friends here. He got her a really nice one; looks more like a hotel than any hospital I’ve ever seen. He even got Sherlock to visit. It made her feel better. I think it might be the pain meds, she’s been nauseous and not eating. John’s going to insist on a change in her meds.   
The next message advanced.  
“Okay, I just got off with Daniel. No idea which one, can’t tell. Sort of pretending they’re both the same.”  
In the background he head his mother say, “That is not nice, Gregory.”  
“They talk as one,” he insisted. “Anyway, I took more than a few liberties. I got you a housekeeper and two nurses on a rotating shift to care for your mum. The Daniel’s gave me a pre-authorized list of names. She and I interviewed them and picked out the ones that seemed best. She really needs them right now since she can’t care for herself yet. She says she agrees a great deal and that you’ll see it our way. I have to do, she’s calling me.”  
The message advanced.  
“Hello again, Mycroft. We are on speaker phone. It is now day three in the Mummy Holmes hip saga.”  
“Don’t forget to tell him that I have my appetite back! You shouldn’t have told him about it. Made him worry for naught.”  
“Yes. I made you worry for naught. That was my fault. It was the painkillers. They put her one something else and suddenly she ate her scrambled eggs. Also, I had Lieutenant Weaver give her access to the security feed in your home. She watched the housekeeper and I cook and commented on every step.”  
“Constructive criticism is the highest compliment,” his mother insisted.  
“We made a large pan of your mother’s Sheppard’s pie. We expect John and Sherlock very soon. At her insistence we also made those little pots of pie that we talked about and creamed butternut squash.”  
“Sherlock’s favorite, Oh, the biscuits.  
“And we made short breads for the lads. See you when we see you. No more scary phone calls. Promise.”  
“End of phone messages,” the digital voice stated. He ended the call.  
Anthea was patiently waiting.  
He turned to her.  
“Daniel reports that she’s fine. The surgeon was top notch. She’s healing well. Appropriate home health care has been found. Your brother has even visited, twice.”  
Mycroft quietly asked, “Has Gregory bothered to return to work yet?”  
Anthea smiled sadly. “Of course not. He hasn’t moved from her side in five days. Except when your bother and Dr. Watson where there. That’s when he showered and changed.”  
“Our estimated time of arrival?”  
“Nineteen minutes, sir.”  
“Thank you,” Mycroft pushed his chair swiveling away a little, so he could retreat into the privacy of his thoughts.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Mycroft arrived home to be greeted at the door by a prim looking woman wearing a white dress shirt with a black jacket and matching black trousers. He instantly noticed that the jacket was cut to fit a holster. She welcomed him home by name, and took his coat and umbrella.   
“My mother, Ms?  
“Mrs. Bedford, H.M.R.A. Infantry Division, retired. Medically.” Mrs. Bedford tapped the tip of Mycroft’s umbrella to her trouser leg so that a hollow metallic sound echoed. “It’s good to be in service again, sir. Even if it’s a short tour. Mrs. Holmes is down the hall in what was a storage room. I believe that it was chosen for its proximity to the bathroom.”  
“Thank you, Mrs. Bedford.”  
As he walked down the hall Mycroft saw the next change to his household. A nurse was sitting in a chair by the bathroom. She stood and went to the large bar that had been installed to join the width of the walls together.   
“It’s a therapeutic device, Mr. Holmes. She has to walk. It’s the only way to make her hip stronger, you see.” Besides, Mrs. Holmes doesn’t like using bed pans.”  
“I see. And you are?”  
“How silly of me. I’m nurse Phillips, MI6, I’m 7am to 7pm, sir. I believe that she’s still awake if you’d like to visit.”  
Mycroft nodded and wandered into what now seemed to be his mother’s bedroom. He waited at the threshold to be noticed. An entire bedroom set had been placed in the room which previously had only kept boxes. Aside from a full sized bed and dresser he spotted a few pieces which he knew belonged to his mother. That included the big soft leather chair that Gregory was asleep in.  
“Darling,” she said holding out her right hand. Her left was immobilized in a cast. “I’m fine. You worry so. Just like your father.”  
“I got all the messages an hour ago. If I’d known you were hurt-  
“Pish posh! Gregory saw after me. He’s a good boy. He even made sure that the broken pieces of Auntie’s platter were shipped. It’s being repaired as we speak. Also, mother Holmes’ dining table arrived safe and sound.” She picked up a nearby electronic table and turned it towards him saying, “Look how wonderful it looks in the dining room.”  
“Yes, Gregory mentioned that he gave you the ability to spy into every corner of my home. However, will I thank him?”  
His mummy smiled. “I would very much like a small family dinner to celebrate the engagement. We shall use the family Wedgwood and great grandmother Hortense’s crystal.”  
“Mummy,” Mycroft said tensely. He paused before he continued to ask, “How long has he been asleep?”  
“Only an hour.”  
“Then I should wake him before he winds up with a crick in his neck.”  
She looked at Gregory. A moment later, she said, “Yes. Do take him upstairs and settle him. He hasn’t slept much at all.”  
Mycroft shook his head. “Mummy. His vacation ended two days ago. I’m sure he’s anxious to get back to work. Also, he hasn’t a change of clothes here.”  
“Of course he does. We had both your things brought from Rotham House along with the furniture and my things. Now take your betrothed to rest. I have my nurse and a fine cook. I’ll make sure there’s a hot meal for him when he wakes. Pea soup perhaps.”  
Gregory breathed in and wiped his face. He smiled a sad little smile. “Welcome back, traveler. I think I’ve earned some sleep.” Greg climbed onto the bed just far enough to kiss a very happy Mummy Holmes. She caressed his face saying, “Go rest. Mycroft is home now.”  
Mycroft walked him out as far as the living room. That’s where he stopped.  
“I need to ask you for something difficult,” Mycroft said turning to Greg.  
“Sure.”  
“I’d like to ask you a few questions. I need to eliminate you as a suspect in a…situation.”  
“I haven’t slept. Do you want to wait until I’m rested?”  
“No. This is perfect. The results will be more accurate.”  
“Right.”  
Mycroft led Gregory to his office. He moved two chairs opposite each other, and motioned Gregory to sit. Gregory fell into his seat.  
Mycroft unbuttoned his jacket and took position opposite Gregory.  
“Have you ever picked up my mobile phone for any reason?”  
“No.”  
“Have you ever accessed the information on my mobile?”  
“No.”  
“Have you ever seen the inside of my briefcase?”  
“No.” Gregory yawned widely.  
“Have you ever accessed information out of any of my electronic devices?”  
“No.”  
“Have you ever accessed any electronic information at my office?”  
“No.”  
Mycroft hesitated. “At any point during the retreat did you contact any outside personnel?”  
“Your mum.”  
“At any point during the retreat did you access the internet?”  
“No.”  
Mycroft leaned forward. “Think about the question.”  
Greg yawned again.   
“Don’t have too. I only took my mobile. I didn’t even get to play solitaire. Kept busy on the radio, cooked, and got to read one magazine while I was waiting for you lot to finish so we could go into the sauna. That’s it.”  
Mycroft sat up. His face stern.  
“Sorry to disappoint.”  
Mycroft hung his head a little. “I was actually hoping that it had been you. It would have been easier.”  
“I’m sorry, Monkey. Do you need anything else?”  
“No,” Mycroft stood and moved his chair back to it’s place. “I shall take you home. You’re in no condition to drive.”  
Gregory only nodded and hauled himself out of his seat. He wavered a moment and then walked out mechanically.  
Mycroft not only called for the car he also road with Greg. They had only been sitting for a minute or so when Gregory rested his head on Mycroft’s shoulder. He was instantly asleep.   
It only took him a moment to ascertain if the man was actually asleep. Even breathing. Slowed pulse rate. Heavy limbs.  
Mycroft leaned in and smelled his hair before nuzzling the soft silvered tips. He let them stroke his face back and forth. Mycroft wasn’t expecting his blood to travel down to his lower extremity so quickly.  
“You’re going to make me hard,” Greg slurred. “’S not fair.”  
“What time do you plan to wake?”  
“What time is it?”  
“Almost ten in the morning. I’ll have my office give you a wake up at one. You should be rested enough to go about your day. I’ll have your car delivered to you then.”  
Greg’s answer was swallowed up by Mycroft’s wool jacket.  
Mycroft leaned his cheek against Gregory’s hair for a moment before the car pulled up in front of Gregory’s flat. Mycroft stared accusingly at the sight in the window.  
It took another five minutes before Mycroft found the will to wake the sleeping man. He put Greg’s house key’s in his hand and wished him a good rest. 


	4. Melancholia

Greg had a long, hard week. No matter how much coffee he had, he simply dragged. Despite the exhaustion, he just couldn’t sleep. Laying in bed seemed to be the worst time for him. Mostly, he heard Mycroft’s voice in the dark. If he closed his eyes, he saw those slate blue eyes boring into him. It was too much. Without activity around him, tasks to accomplish, and the presence of life, he was lost.   
So when his mobile alerted that he had a text, he didn’t jump to answer it. He exhaled, swirled his too sweet coffee, and finished it in five gulps. He expected it to be Donovan. He dreaded the idea that it might be Sherlock again.  
The prat had showed up unannounced at a crime scene and immediately said, “I see my bother’s done with you.”  
“Sherlock,” John had warned.  
“Just look! It’s plainly obvious! Anyone could see!”  
Greg had breathed in deeply and exhaled harshly. “You’re not on the case. I don’t want you here. Bugger off.”  
It got him an insult and ignored. Sherlock still wandered off following the unseen threads of logic that spurred him forwards while Greg did his best to hide from his team. It wasn’t that he was ashamed. He could never be ashamed of Mycroft. He simply didn’t want to talk about it. He couldn’t. How could he explain to anyone that he had managed to get close to such an amazing individual only to have it all slip away from him.  
Poof.  
Gone.  
He wanted more coffee. He wanted it Irish. He wasn’t any use to his team anyway. Despite his weariness, Sherlock was on it. Job done.  
Greg checked his phone. He felt numb as he recognized a number belonging to one of the Daniel’s. He sighed and kept walking in search of another cup of wakefullness.  
A black sedan glided into place next to him. It took him a moment to realize that it was even there. He stopped. The door opened. Greg debated with himself.  
He got in.   
The back was empty. He was grateful for that small mercy. A momentary reprieve.  
The driver woke him two seconds later. Greg felt a headache and his entire head felt dry.  
He wiped his face and started the trek up to Mycroft’s office. He mechanically put one foot in front of the other. He showed his ID at the appropriate times and did his best not to fall asleep in the elevator. He’d already fallen asleep on his feet too many times to count in the past week. He didn’t fancy doing it again.  
The elevator dinged softly. Greg opened his eyes to find Anthea.  
“You look awful,” she huffed.  
“Thanks,” he responded. “Got any coffee?”  
“This way.” She smiled but it looked fake. Strained.  
She sat him in a small meeting room and asked him to wait.   
Greg wanted to put his head down and float away. But he knew that he’d never manage it. If he breathed in carefully and deeply, he could just make out a hint of Mycroft’s aftershave.  
Greg was scratching at his throat, where the heavy two days growth was itching, when Anthea entered. His eyes were instantly on the steaming cup in her hand. God love her, she brought it straight to him.  
“Milk, three sugars.”  
He took it gratefully and sipped the hot, milky promise of another hour awake.  
She set a stack of legal paper in front of him.  
“We buying a house together?”  
“These are necessary to up your security clearance,” she said professionally.  
“Girl, I didn’t sign this much when I shot a suspect.”  
Greg spent the next fifteen minutes signing his name and scrawling his initials. By the time the last sheet was turned over, his hand hurt. He rubbed the cramp out of his hand as he wondered what was next.  
Anthea gathered the paperwork, stacked, and organized it. “Mr. Holmes is in his office, Detective Inspector.”  
Greg hesitated.  
Eventually, he picked up his Styrofoam cup and walked out.  
He entered Mycroft’s office slowly. The office had been re-arranged so that a small sofa could sit facing a large flat screen. He was sitting there on the sofa with an electronic tablet in his lap. A camera’s view of a room was on screen. The view continued to change slowly as Mycroft scrutinized everything in sight.   
Lestrade could hear the wheels in Mycroft’s head turn.  
“Are you finished signing?” Mycroft asked mindlessly.  
“Yeah.”  
“You look exhausted,” Mycroft said without taking his eyes off the rotating 360 degree picture.  
“And you look obsessed.”  
“Please sit.” Mycroft tore his eyes from the screen and rubbed them. “I need your help.”  
“Me? I can get Sherlock.”  
“Yes. The most indiscrete two year old of a man who will walk in here, if he even decides to accept the proposal to help, and will proceed to admonish me for our failed relationship. I have not reached that level of desperation as of yet.”  
Greg walked to the sofa and sat next to Mycroft so that their shoulders were touching. He ignored the paperwork strewn on the coffee table in front of them.  
“Maybe you want to talk the problem through. But, remember that you have to make it easy for us mere mortals.”  
Mycroft smiled sadly. “I find myself in a unique situation that I haven’t found myself in since I was a child.”  
Greg put his cup on the table in front of him. He settled in against Mycroft taking the liberty to snuggle against the man’s shoulder.  
“I know that someone from a very limited pool contacted the individual who resided in this flat. There was a two hour limit between the last information update in our system and this person releasing said information on the internet.”  
“Where’s the bloke?”  
“Quite dead. It had been decided several hours before that he was a traitor and had to be eliminated.”  
It felt intimate. The quiet talking. Like sweet nothings.  
Greg felt a little smile on his face. “Was he dead before or after you figured out what he did?”  
“After,” Mycroft exhaled. “Every device in this room has been checked. No printer. No facsimile. We know that he didn’t leave the room for several hours before his death.”  
“So how did he receive the information?’  
“Precisely. And without knowing how he received the information, we can’t find the traitor at this end.”  
“Can I see the room?”  
With a flick of his finger, the screen began to slowly shift.  
“The windows face nothing of significance. No electronic billboards, nothing that can be used to signal.”  
“How do you know that he was signaled?”  
“There were three hand written pages of names. The leaked information in question.”  
Greg tried to watch the screen closely. His eyes were heavy and Mycroft smelled good. Not like day old suit, bad coffee, and failed deodorant but rather clean and sexy. His eyes fluttered shut. He felt himself start to drift.  
He made a valiant effort to open his eyes. It took a moment for his mind to process what he’d just seen. Greg shot right up.  
“Go back,” he said suddenly awake.  
Mycroft backed the picture up.  
“More. More. More. Stop.” He looked at the picture and said, “I know what that is. It’s interactive.”  
“I assume you’re describing the video game?”  
Greg turned to look at Mycroft. He smiled at the man. “I know you want this solved, but I need to bask in this feeling for a moment. This is what you and your annoying brother feel like all the time.”  
“Gregory.”  
“All knowing.”  
“Today, Gregory-  
Greg smiled and sat back. “The bad part is what I tell you, you’ll run off to do what you do. You won’t be on this sofa with me any longer and I was rather enjoying the cuddle. How am I supposed to kip?”  
Mycroft didn’t hesitate to take his jacket off and offer it to Greg. Greg took it and held it like a precious teddy.  
“Few months back this fat guy tried to kill a banker. No reason. No motive. He missed by a mile. I get the guy in interrogation and he’s in obvious withdrawals. Sweaty. Pale. I thought he was on the pipe. Turned out he was a serious, gaming addict.  
Mycroft looked at the screen.  
“He implicated the banker’s son. Said they were playing one-on-one when the son offered him 5,000 quid to do it, but the gaming company didn’t record audio. Had to let both blokes go.” Greg pointed at the screen saying, “Those things have headsets with microphones to let players talk to one another.”  
Mycroft shot out of his seat and out of the office.  
Greg fell over onto the Mycroft warmed spot. He did his best to accommodate his long body on the small space. He stuffed the expensive jacket under his head and promptly fell asleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Greg woke up to someone stroking his hair. He smiled before he ever opened his eyes. The smell of hot food and tea was in the air.  
Greg reached up and took the hand in his. He nuzzled Mycroft’s hand and held on.  
“You won’t be able to sleep later?”  
“This isn’t new.”  
“And mummy will be upset.”  
Greg opened his eyes.  
“She demands an update on your condition. I’m quite incapable of lying to her.”  
“Isn’t there some training for spy’s that you can go through?”  
Without hesitation, he said, “She simply knows. It’s quite irritating.”  
“And you’ll turn me in.”  
“And tell her that you’re looking thin.”  
“Heartless bastard.”  
“Now get up. I have soup, pasties, and tea. It was Sherlock’s most successful recovery meal.”  
Greg opened his mouth.  
“I know,” Mycroft said. “But it’s been forty-five hours since you’re had something other than coffee in your stomach. Humor me.”  
Greg allowed a bottle of cool water to be put in his hand. He was sat at a table. They shared a simple meal of pea soup, pasties, and herbal tea.  
Greg had never seen Mycroft drink herbal tea. He knew that it was for Greg’s benefit but he didn’t comment since he didn’t want to ruin the mood. Greg could only stare, Mycroft was so much lighter than the last time Greg saw him. The obsessed look was gone. Mycroft managed a small smile. A genuine smile. And, Greg knew that the situation that had been worrying Mycroft so badly before was either resolved or being resolved.  
Greg ate as much as he could stand. It wasn’t much compared to how he usual ate.  
Mycroft even took a picture.  
“Don’t.”  
“I must,” Mycroft insisted. “Mummy will demand proof.”  
And still, it was the best meal that Greg had experienced in too many dark days.   
“The information was good then?”  
Mycroft didn’t hesitate to say, “You were wrong about no recording. We found fragments of audio embedded in the game’s memory. Just enough to confirm that you were right. That’s all I can tell you.”  
“I’m sure you’ll figure out the rest in time.”  
Mycroft fell silent. He got that look on his face and whatever hope Greg had in his chest melted away.  
“You only kipped for two hours. I’ll have my driver ready to take you home when you’re ready.”  
“Thanks,” Greg said easily. “But first I demand a kiss.”  
“Demand?”  
“My reward for helping. I want it. I want it deep. I want it wet. I want it messy.”  
The mask on Mycroft’s face slipped just for a moment. But it was enough for Greg to see that his words had an effect.  
Greg stood and stepped closer. He didn’t crowd the other man. But, he was close enough. When Mycroft stood they were at the perfect distance to simply lean forward and enjoy.  
And, Greg didn’t hesitate to do just that. He deepened the kiss quickly lounging in the slick warmth of the other. The taste went straight to his cock. He surged forwards pulling Mycroft towards him wanting to climb into him.  
Mycroft began pulling away. It only made Greg hold on tighter. Pull more. Rub against him until his cock throbbed with such need that he knew the only remedy was more friction.  
Mycroft broke the kiss and stepped away. He held his hand out keeping them at a distance.  
Greg’s initial response was a sharp inhale. Disbelief and pain soon followed. Reality set in next, much to his disappointment.  
Him standing in Mycroft’s office. A raging erection in his terribly wrinkled pants. Willing to beg for…anything.  
Greg shut his eyes. He breathed in deep willing the strength to forget any of what had just happened.  
Greg turned away. He tried to fix himself as much as possible.  
“Wouldn’t have been good, you know.” Greg’s shoulder’s slumped a bit as he admitted, “I’ve never gone with a bloke before. I’d probably cock it up.”  
Greg left.  
He found a car waiting for him by the curb. He was oblivious to the drive. He simply stared out into the passing evening, blind to all.   
Somehow, he wound up standing outside of his flat unsure if he wanted to go up or wander down to the local pub and drink himself blind.

Chapter 5 - Friends Indeed  
Greg was on desk duty.  
He would have liked to have riled against the unfairness of the all, but really it had been his fault. He spent three weekends straight at the pub drinking until he was stupid, sleepy, and didn’t care for Mycroft’s existence. Then, he started going on week days.  
He knew that his Detective Chief Inspector had made some noise about Greg being a faggot. But since the man didn’t say anything to him directly, Greg didn’t pay him much mind. Greg simply showed up, however he could. He carried aspirin for the headaches, dark glasses for the bright lights, and cough drops for the lingering smell of liquor. He washed up in the sink at work one too many times after sleeping in his car because he couldn’t drive. He drank coffee and did his best to avoid direct sunlight.   
What he didn’t expect was that he’d been monitored, recorded, and documented. He was called into his DCI’s office, confronted with evidence, and given a desk pending investigation. He had a hearing in a few days to determine if he had been derelict of duty. Till then, he was writing reports and updating files.  
That’s where he was when he got the phone call.  
He didn’t recognize the number. It was blocked. Instantly, he thought of Mycroft and answered, “Lestrade.”  
There was no reply.  
Because he was sorting some papers out he didn’t immediately hang up.   
A voice on the other side slurred, “I think I’m ‘ungry.”  
“This is Detective Inspector Lestrade. Who is this?”  
“A butty…bacon butty with extra sauce.”   
The words were slurred, but familiar.   
“Norman?”  
“Maybe a slice of cake.”  
“Norman are you alright? Where are you? Do you need an ambulance?” Greg was already moving. He ran across the office to where two of the techs were standing around chatting with coffee in hand. “I’ve got an emergency on my mobile. The line’s open. Trace it! Now!”  
Greg turned back to his phone. “Norman, don’t hang up! What ever you do, don’t hang up!”  
There was a little giggle and then a shuffling sound.  
“Norman?”  
Nothing.  
He looked at his phone. The call was still active.  
“Tell me you have something?”  
“Not yet, sir,” the tech at the computer said.  
It took them longer to trace the call then Greg liked. The moment they said Mayfair, he started moving.   
“Send the exact location to my mobile,” he called back to the techs.  
He went straight to Donnovan’s desk. He leaned in and quietly said, “I need you. There’s an issue.”  
“You’re on a desk,” she hissed.  
“That’s why you’re coming. Now, Sally. I need you.”  
Thankfully, she didn’t argue. She grabbed her coat and purse. They were off. He had the name of a hotel and the address before they ever got to the car.   
She drove. He called the paramedics to meet them at the hotel. He said it was a diabetic emergency but that he didn’t know the details.  
They double parked and ran into the posh hotel.   
Greg presented his credentials, “DI Lestrade. You have a guest, Norman Asberry. He’s in medical distress. I need his room number.”  
The woman behind the desk began typing into the computer in front of her. After a few moments, she shook her head saying, “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t have an Asberry or a Norman in our records. If he’s a visiting guest I have no way of tracking him.”  
The paramedics walked in pulling a stretcher along.   
Greg turned to Donnovan saying, “Tell them to wait.” He turned back to the front desk. “I need security. Where are your cameras?”  
“Sir,” a man to his side said. His close crop hair and uniform, blue blazer said he was security. “I’m the security manager, Mr. Bentley.”  
Greg showed his ID. “DI Lestrade. I need to review the last hour of your security footage.”  
“This way Detective Inspector.”  
The security office was hidden discreetly off to one side.  
Greg checked his watch. “He called me from this location fifteen minutes ago. Roll the cameras back forty five minutes.”  
Twelve monitors showing multiple shots of the ground floor went backwards in time to fast to follow. When the footage began to move forwards his eyes moved quickly from one screen to another in search of silvered mutton chops on a well dressed heavy set man.  
“There,” Greg said pointing at the bar.  
Norman was sitting with another man. A drink was sitting on the table.   
“Forwards, please.”  
The man left a moment later a young woman arrived. She sat with Norman Asberry for a brief few seconds as reality sped by. Then he was leaving with her. They were in the elevators and then exiting.  
“Where is that? I need that room opened.”  
“Sixteenth floor,” Mr. Bentley said already on the move.  
They walked to the elevators. Mr. Bentley used his key to call a car. As the paramedics loaded in Mr. Bentley made several apologies to guests who were standing by. Once inside, the man used his key again and took them directly to the sixteenth floor.  
The room was right off the elevator.  
“Bentley pulled out a key card and knocked, “Mr. Asberry? It’s security. We’re coming in, sir.”  
“Come on, man!”  
“It’s hotel policy, Detective Inspector,” the man insisted as he opened the door.  
Greg drew his weapon and went in first. He saw Norman laying on the floor wearing nothing but his underpants. Greg cleared the room and the bathroom. Donovan walking in behind Greg, stepped over the downed man, and went straight to the closet.   
“My ring,” Norman called.  
The paramedics entered.  
Norman struggled unsuccessfully to get up. “My ring!”  
He fell back.  
The three paramedics crowded around the man on the ground. Within a minute they had him on a gurney.   
The man was being rolled out of the room as he again said, “My ring!”  
“He’s alive,” Sally said. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”  
Greg answered, “Were are his clothes?” He turned looked around the room. “Norman can afford a lot better than this little single with no view. This doesn’t smell right at all.” He looked at Sally saying, “Gloves on. Treat it like a crime scene until it’s not.”  
She pulled a pair of gloves out of her purse.  
He took his from his pants pocket.  
Systematically, they searched every quadrant of the room.   
“Sir,” Sally said still looking in a garbage bin. She pulled out a small vial with traces of white powder around the edge. She set it on the dresser. “You think he was having some kind of a party?”  
“Not unless he totally lost his mind. Norman has health problems and the kind of job where he can’t be doing that. Bag it. We need to take a close look at that security footage.”  
Five minutes later, they were back in security reviewing the video.  
Norman is sitting at the bar talking to a slight dark haired man. The dark haired man drinks nothing. Norman orders a glass. They talk for a few minutes. Then the other man gets up and leaves the table, bar, and then the hotel.   
A woman approaches and sits. Young. Beautiful. Red dress with lips to match.  
“Pro,” Sally says.   
Greg agrees saying, “High class.”  
A man approaches. He seems to upset the woman. Norman gets up and has words with the new comer. The man leaves.  
“Bugger!” Sally exclaimed “Did you see it?”  
“No.”  
“Go back two minutes,” Sally instructed the security guard. “This time don’t take your eyes off the woman.”  
The moment that Norman’s attention was elsewhere the woman reached for something in her purse. She poured something into his drink and returned whatever it was back to her purse.   
From there, the rest was incredibly predictable. When he stood from the table he was unsteady on his feet. The woman helped. As the woman guided Norman through the lobby they were met by another man. He didn’t even stop. She simply passed on Norman’s briefcase. She guided Norman to the elevators and then straight to the room. Four minutes and twenty seconds later, she emerged. Her purse was very full.  
“I want a copy of this footage, please.” He turned to Donnovan. “Take that vial to the hospital and tell them he was drugged. I’ve got something that I have to do.”  
Greg didn’t wait for a response from anyone. He walked out of security and went straight towards the bar where Norman had been sitting not more than an hour ago.  
He pulled his mobile phone out and dialed Mycroft. As he reached the bar’s entrance, Mycroft picked up.  
“Norman’s headed to the hospital.” Greg scanned every woman in the bar. “As far as I can tell he was drugged. His clothes, shoes, and briefcase were taken.”  
The silence on the other end of the phone was deafening.  
Greg spotted a woman. The kind of working woman that he needed. “I’m about to get a location for the thieves. I just need a few minutes.”  
“Greg. His briefcase contains sensitive materials.”  
“And, I’ll call you back in five minutes.”  
Greg walked towards the woman at the bar. She was flirting with an older man. Greg pulled out his ID and flashed them at the bloke.   
She turned quickly. Her face already sour.  
“Fancy staying out of a cell today?” he asked.  
A look of disgust crossed her face. “I don’t give free anything.”  
“I’m only looking for information, is all.” He signaled the bartender. “Another for the lady.” He turned to her and said, “About an hour ago, a friend of mine was here.”  
“I wasn’t,” she said bored.  
“Blonde bint dosed him, robbed him blind, and left him upstairs to die.”  
The woman sipped her drink, clearly thinking. “I heard of something similar happening at the Dorchester last week. Bad for business that.”  
“I need something to go on.”  
“And if I can give it?”  
“I walk away.”  
She looked at him. Sharp eyes narrowed. A moment later, she said, “Alright.” She pulled her mobile phone out of her purse. She went back and forth with someone. Based on what he heard, he knew that it was another woman. Likely the other one was upstairs with a client. She was warned that there was a copy and asked about the blonde.  
The woman hung up.  
She picked up her drink and sipped delicately. “Is the name of the woman enough?”  
“More than enough.”  
“My friend knows her. Saw her. Used to work the hotels too till she met this bloke. Cinnamon Chaste, lived in Peckham.”  
“Is that alias?”  
The woman shrugged.  
“Thanks.”  
Greg walked away.  
He called Mycroft and reported.  
“Gregory, I’ll call you with an address. I can’t dispatch men. I can’t emphasis enough how important it is to get that briefcase back. Unopened.”  
“Understood.”  
Greg walked out of the hotel. He called for reinforcements. Still on the phone with his office, he saw a patrol car driving by and flagged them down. He called the situation a suspected terrorist activity.   
Four minutes later he had an address where he could direct all his activity.  
There were drug dens in London that never saw the kind of mobilized police response like the one he organized that day. He called in several favors to accomplish it all but in less than twenty minutes he not only had his men but also the SCO 19 response team on the ground. His men were outfitted in body armor and weapons. They looked comical standing next to the SWAT outfits and automatic weapons to the METs elite, but they were ready to go.   
They approached in text book fashion. Their target was in apartment six, third floor of a dreary building. They cleared each apartment, floor-by-floor until only the apartment left was their target. Lestrade had a team in place on the fire escape, and another on the roof opposite which had a sniper. Men secured the ground floor.   
He personally lead his team. A small tactical camera on a flexible wand was slipped under the door. The officer with the camera held up three fingers and then moved out of the way. A uni came forwards with a battering ram. The door burst in and the rest of them ran in, weapons drawn.  
The place was a dump. The assailants were already high. They all resisted, but it was mostly bluster and complaining. They were in restraints very quickly.  
Greg marched up to the blonde woman.  
“You stole a ring from a man today. Well dressed, muttonchops, hard to miss.”  
“You can’t come in here! This is private property! I’m going to have your badge!”  
Normally, Greg would never have put his hands on a woman with a threat of violence. Had he been thinking straight, he probably wouldn’t have shoved her against the wall. Greg pushed his wrist against her throat. Her air was cut off and he knew it by the look of her eyes.  
“I can see that I have your attention. You stole a ring today. Older man, muttonchops side burns. I. Want. It.”  
She didn’t attempt to speak.  
He smiled. “Make me ask again and I’ll leave scars, girl.”  
Greg eased back so she could take a breath.  
She coughed and sucked in air.  
“Where?” he demanded.  
She pointed to a dirty, over burned kitchen table. A half completed carburetor sat off to one side next to several dirty dishes and half-empty take away containers. She pointed. He found the ring sitting on a piece of uneaten toast.  
He rescued the ring, cleaned it with a handkerchief, and put it in his pocket.  
“We’re looking for a briefcase,” Greg announced authoritatively.  
A moment later, he heard Dimmock say, “Over here, sir!”  
Dimmock held the briefcase up.  
Greg went to it. He took it in his hands and studied the locking mechanism. The face of it was trimmed with brass. It was scratched up. It was clear that they’d tried to open it.  
Greg turned to the first suspect who was standing near him.  
“Did you two tits managed to open this?”  
“Fuck you, copper!”  
The guy was close. It was mostly instinct. Greg punched the man in the face with the briefcase in his hands.  
The suspect tipped back and fell to the ground unconscious. His nose was broken and bleeding profusely.   
Greg put the briefcase back in Dimmock’s hands.  
He looked around the room. There were tools near the carburetor on the dining table. Greg found a pair of pliers and looked over at the second suspect.   
“You think I’m scared!” the second man yelled. He smiled exposing gold teeth.   
Greg pulled a chair from the table towards the blustering man.   
“I run these streets! Got people who answer to me! You’re nothing! I can have you killed whenever I want!”  
Greg walked behind the man and gave him one swift, well placed kick behind the knee. He hauled the man to the chair and forced his head down onto it. Greg kneeled on the man’s head securing his skull in place.  
“Sir?” Dimmock called.  
“Detective Inspector! That’s enough!” another one of his men called.  
“Shut up!” Greg snapped. He brought the pliers to the man’s face and said, “Tell me if you opened it?”  
“Fuck-  
As quickly as he could, Greg pushed the pliers into the man’s mouth and grabbed a gold tooth. It pulled much easier than he would have imagined.   
He flicked the tooth away and again asked, “Did you open the fucking briefcase?”  
Greg snapped the pliers opened and closed a few times. “Your choice.”   
He brought the pliers closer.  
“No! couldn’t! Couldn’t pick it!”  
Greg stood up and backed off the man. “Was that so hard?”  
He threw the pliers away.  
Greg retrieved the briefcase and walked out as he ignored the looked from his fellow officers.  
Greg walked down the stairs and out of the building dimly away that he was even doing it. The adrenaline was still coursing through this body.   
It wasn’t until he was outside and he saw the black sedan that he even realized where he was. He headed for the black car. There was already an erection painfully bothering him.  
The car door opened before he got there.  
Greg got in as quickly as his painful cock would allow.  
He didn’t have to look. He could both smell and feel Mycroft. He blindly handed the briefcase over.  
“Was it opened?”  
“No. I asked several times.”  
“Is that where the blood originated?”  
Greg looked down and was truly surprised to see it on his fingers.  
He stared at it in unmoving and probably would have continued to do so if Mycroft hadn’t given him a handkerchief. Greg cleaned his hands off as best he could.  
“This could have damaged Norman’s career. I’ve been able to keep it quiet. Norman had an episode, and had to be taken to the hospital. That’s all.”  
“Good,” Greg said. “He looked out the window at his people milling around. “What about the idiots in custody?”  
“I’ll have paperwork sent to your office. My men will take custody.”  
“What I just did. I’ll probably loose my job.” Greg met Mycroft’s eyes. His cock hurt that much more. “I want my reward.”  
Mycroft looked hesitant, but he didn’t argue.  
Greg reached out. He threaded his fingers through the man’s well behaved hair. He took the greatest pleasure in feeling the strands sliding through his fingers.  
The spacious backseat allowed enough room that Greg was able to kneel between the other man’s long legs. Greg’s feet hardly fit in the space, and his cock was painfully smashed against the edge of the leather seat. He had to reach down and adjust himself.   
Greg took his time looking Mycroft over. The expensive suit was the bow wrapping his gift. His finger tips touched gently just under the knot of Mycroft’s silk tie. Slowly, he followed the long line down to the brass buckled belt. He undid the buckle with shaking fingers.   
Reverently, Greg ran his finger tips over the soft wool of Mycroft’s pants.  
“I have half a mind to fuck you right here,” Greg whispered low and husky. He felt Mycroft erection suddenly come to life under his moving fingers.  
Greg leaned forward and pressed his face to the high count Egyptian cotton shirt. He inhaled deeply as he rubbed his face against Mycroft’s soft belly. The sent alone made him that much harder. Expensive. Pungent. And a sudden hint of musk. Very male.  
Greg leaned down as far as he could go and buried his face onto him. He couldn’t equate it with anything else.  
He was suddenly terrified that it would disappear. That he’d ever smell him again.  
Greg burrowed his fingers behind Mycroft’s balls and hoped that the man was as sensitive in that spot as he was. Mycroft instantly groaned and arched up. Greg ground his face down harder.  
“Oh, love,” Greg moaned.  
He kept his hand in the pit of Mycroft’s body warmed woolen crevice. His other hand traveled up unbuttoning as it went.  
Greg wasn’t happy until his face was against Mycroft’s skin. He kissed what he was able to reach. Nipping a little, eliciting sounds that he never thought he’d get to hear from the man.  
Moving up higher meant climbing Mycroft’s pliant body. It meant pressing against the man to get higher up to his neck. Closer to his lips.   
Greg found himself there. Groin to groin. Hot panting lips open and ready. He sunk between Mycroft’s lips and lost himself in the taste of the man. Mindless instinct pushed him forwards.  
Mycroft was moaning in his ear.  
“Gregory!” Was hissed out in the car cabin.  
Greg found himself on top of Mycroft. A pleasant earlobe between his teeth. He was rutting against Mycroft. Another sigh and Greg felt too drunk to act.  
He’d heard the term superhuman strength but he’d never seen it. And yet, that’s exactly what it took to roll away. To accomplish his task he had to tell himself over an over that Mycroft didn’t want him. Move away. Don’t do anything stupid.  
Just to sit, almost comfortably, Greg had to adjust. He took his jacket off and hide his crotch. He had to get away from the smell in the car or it was going to kill him.   
The moment he could, Greg bolted from the car. Donavan was laying in wait for him and fell into step with him.  
“Sir, I heard what happened up there.”  
“Take me to the hospital.”  
“Are you hurt?”  
“No. I need to see, Norman.”  
“Your sweaty and pale.”  
“Coming down from adrenaline.”  
He had her drive because his hands were shaking too badly.   
His body was more calm by the time he walked into the hospital. At least, he could wear his jacket.  
He found Mrs. Asberry near her husband. She was teary eyed. Her make up was smeared and her face blotchy.  
He walked up to her. Without saying a word, he pulled Norman’s ring out of his pocket and offered it to her.  
She inhaled sharply. But her crying all but stopped. Tight little gasps was all that remained.  
“There was a gang of them working together. They distracted him, and something went into his drink. He didn’t have a chance. Some how, and I’ve no idea how, he managed to call me. I thought it was his blood sugar.”  
The woman threw her arms around him and cried.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Mycroft had to have his driver take him home.  
He marched in with his coat over his crotch. He went straight up to his bathroom.   
He stripped and stepped into the shower. It didn’t take much for him to orgasm and fall against the cold marble wall. He felt his entire body shake. He would have given anything at that moment to be able to quiet his mind. No vivid memories of what they’d done. The feel of him. The way he naturally took control. Control over the situation. And of course, control over Mycroft’s body.  
The water was hot, but Mycroft was still shaking. Couldn’t stop it.  
“Mikey,” his mother called over the intercom.  
Mycroft dutifully and immediately released his penis. He slumped further down the wall.  
“When you are presentable, your mother would like a word.”  
He got out of the shower and got dressed. It was sheer will power alone that drove him through the activity. What’s more he dressed appropriately since he knew that at some point the knew that he’d have to leave the house and return back to work. With Norman out and the investigation still proceeding on top of the usual work, he had no choice. His physical demands and pathetic romantic life was inconsequential.  
Mycroft was very proud that he got all the way to his mother’s bedroom without collapse. He didn’t vomit. In fact, he was rather calm and composed. At least, on the outside.  
Mycroft walked in without being asked and he crawled into bed besides his mummy. He couldn’t stop the tears that came. Nothing could.  
When she placed her hands on his head, she said, “Let it out, darling.”   
It was a soothing balm.  
By the time he could speak, Mycroft had a headache. “I thought he’d forget it all rather quickly.”  
“Did he?” she asked in that knowing tone.  
“No.” Mycroft was a bit surprised by it. “First, he couldn’t sleep. Then, he started drinking far too much. I’m afraid he’s gotten himself into quite a bit of trouble at work. Because of me, and for me.”  
“Does that really surprise you?”  
“He’s in love with you, silly boy!” She sighed heavily. “Well, I did wish for stupid children. I suppose this is God answering.”  
“Mummy, I’ve made a mess of it. I don’t know if I can fix it.”  
“Pish, posh! You can’t fix it once you’re dead. Before that you have a fighting chance. Tell him how you feel and that you want a chance. How could he resist running back to you?”  
Mycroft sat up. He sniffed. His nose was wet and stuffy.  
“Mummy-  
“No,” his Mummy demanded. “I will not debate this with you. He is pinning away, waiting for you. If you don’t allow him entry into your life; I will not listen to your heart break and woe!”  
“Yes, mummy.”  
Mycroft stood up and walked out of her room without further comment.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Greg’s day had progressively deteriorated as the hours had ticked by. He got stuck in the hospital for longer than he liked, but had no way to politely extract himself. By the time he got back to his crime scene in Peckham his DCI was waiting for him. Greg got dressed down and had his ass handed to him in front of twenty or so co-workers. His credentials and weapon were taken. Then, he was told he was put on suspension pending an internal investigation and review.  
He was dismissed from the scene with the words, “Get your sorry faggot ass out of here! I have a mess to clean up and no patience for a no account drunk that’s gotten it into his head to launch a massive attack on innocent citizens.”  
He didn’t say a word in return. Greg just walked away.  
He wanted to catch a cab but he didn’t have any cash.  
He wound up having to walk.  
Half-way home, it started to rain.  
He was cold and sodden by the time he reached his stoop. He went up and in only because he knew that he wanted to get warm. There wasn’t any food because he hadn’t been to the shop. He didn’t even have biscuits with which to have a proper cup. He just hoped that he had milk…and tea bags.  
He began sneezing at the door. It took him three tries to get the key in. He trudged in. On top of everything else, Greg realized that he felt a bit warm.  
He turned the lights on.  
What he saw was a beautiful table laid out. China that he didn’t own, candles, and a bottle of champagne sat on snow white linen.  
Mycroft stepped out where he could see him. In his hands a bouquet of dozen red roses.   
“I wasn’t sure,” Mycroft said awkwardly. “You never told me what you liked.”  
Greg’s keys dropped from his fingers.  
He stepped forwards towards what he prayed was neither a hallucination nor the fruit of a psychotic break.  
When he was close enough, Greg reached out for Mycroft. He stroked the mans face in disbelief.  
Greg pulled him into a close embrace.  
Greg fell to his knees. It wasn’t so much weakness as it was thanks.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They spent the night together but not exactly in the way that they had each envisioned in fantasy.   
Mycroft helped Gregory into a warm bath. With his shirt sleeves rolled up, Mycroft washed the man carefully. Greg watched dully from the tub as he was cared for by his greatest fantasy.   
After, Mycroft helped him to bed wrapped in a towel. Greg was dried, dressed, and tucked in.   
They snuggled together. Mycroft quietly spent the evening watching Gregory sleep.   
Mycroft was ready with tea the next morning. Gregory was able to sit up and take it, but his color was off. He felt weak. His eyes were watery and his smile had less of a shine that normal.   
“I want to ask you permission for something,” Mycroft said stretching out next to Greg with his own steaming mug in hand.  
“Yes,” Greg responded. “You can use my body anyway you like…after I finish my cuppa.”  
Mycroft smiled. “I was actually going to ask you to move in for a while. I can have a few of your things brought over.”  
“Shouldn’t we have sex before I move in?” Greg asked brushing his foot against Mycroft’s.  
Mycroft responded by reaching his foot closer to Gregory’s. “You’re sick. You must rest. And whether I like it or not, I must go in to work. I’d feel better if you were there.”   
Accusingly, Greg said, “Your mum is going to spoil me.”  
“Of that I’m quite sure.”  
Greg sipped his tea. When he was ready, he said, “Being able to spend more time with you would be a dream. But moving in would be disruptive to you. I doubt that you’d enjoy having your space violated.”  
“I want to be violated.”  
Greg had to look at the man. Mycroft actually kept a straight face. With complete seriousness on his face and in his voice, Mycroft said, “Yes. I know what I just said. I know that you could be targeted because of me. Anyone paying attention knows how I feel. I need…want to protect you.”  
“Not the same as moving in.”  
“I suppose I want the excuse, any excuse, to have you close.” Mycroft rubbed Gregory’s foot with his. “Let’s do it. Let’s take a chance. If we’re wrong, well we’re adults. We can discuss it.”  
“My habits will drive you balmy. I’m not exactly neat as a pin.”  
“I’ve noticed,” Mycroft said with a nod. “And I been described as obsessive compulsive. We’ll have to work on meeting somewhere in the middle. We shall begin with this. I compromise by asking you to move in only for the duration of your illness. You shall be offered a space for your clothing for those times when you stay overnight.”  
“Do we anticipate much of that?”  
“Yes.”  
Greg smiled, but this time it reached his eyes.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Greg was face down on the mattress. His back was being rubbed gently. He was half asleep, floating happily on the surface of dreams.  
“No! Dear God! It’s Geoff!”  
Greg was now much more awake. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know that Sherlock was climbing over the furniture looking for a place to perch.  
“Now the fat git is going to be absolutely insufferable!”  
“Sherlock, do not call your brother names. And do not wake Gregory so. He’s ill and requires rest.”  
In disgust, Sherlock replied, “He’s only pretending to sleep, Mummy.”  
“I was asleep,” Greg responded. “Till some prat woke me.”  
Greg stretched a little. His body ached down to his socked feet. He was mostly stiff.  
Greg opened his eyes at last and found John sitting in the big chair by the bed. John was busy reviewing the medical chart in his hands.  
“Heard you were under the weather,” John said looking up at him.  
“Bad cold, is all,” Greg said pushing up a bit so he could sit. “Nothing like napping with mummy to make a bloke feel better.”  
She looked up from her book. “You’re so right. There’s tea if you like, lemon herbal. The best thing for a cold.”  
Obediently, Greg got up to get a cup. He found the tea tray on the bureau.   
“I see it didn’t take you long to take advantage of the situation,” Sherlock said standing to his full height. While still on the small ottoman off to one side. He stepped down and then back up onto a small table, down and right to Greg.   
“Sure am. And all the sex I can handle on to of hot tea and cooked meals.”  
Sherlock’s face scrunched up sourly.  
Greg leaned in. “If you don’t want to know. Don’t ask.” Greg returned to his side of Mummy’s bed saying, “You’re brother is a wonderful kisser. Good looking. Considerate about giving proper orgasms. And, as soon as I can breathe properly, my best shag yet.”  
For a moment it looked as if Sherlock was turning green. When he spoke it was to say, “Stop trying to give me nightmares! The only thing I’m interested in is getting you to work faster!”  
Greg looked up from his cup.  
“You’re still on suspension!” Sherlock demanded. “Or, am I the only one that’s noticed?”  
Greg sniffed. “You’re here because you’re bored.”  
John smirked.   
“Of course, he is,” John said as Sherlock said, “Of course, I am.”  
John got up out of the chair saying, “He’s been driving me round the bend, mate. He walked to Mrs. Holmes side of the bed with the chart still in his hands.  
Sherlock promptly sat in John’s place. He crossed his legs and touched his fingertips together in prayer pose. His eyes narrowed.  
“Don’t know how to tell you this, mate. I probably just lost my position and pension in one go. Everyone who went in had standard tactical issue body cameras.”  
Dismissively, Sherlock said, “I’ve already seen the footage.”  
Greg stared back silently demanding an answer.  
“If the police want to keep things such a secret, they should invest in better security.”  
After a moments thought, Greg shrugged. “Technically, I’m not a copper right now so...”  
“You have an inquiry on Monday. I have it on good authority that they will sack you if you don’t-   
“Thanks. I appreciate the concern, even if it smells completely self-serving. But I know what I did.”  
Sherlock sniffed. “Doing favors for Mycroft always comes with a cost. Having him get you out of trouble is the only upside imaginable.” With a wave of his hand, Sherlock said, “Have him clean it up.”  
“I don’t want him too.” Greg leaned forwards and said, “You should prepare yourself-  
Sherlock huffed loudly and stomped away so he could pace.  
“Problem is, you’ve alienated or insulted everyone I know in that office. And once I’m sacked, I doubt anyone will touch you. May be Mycroft will give you some work.”  
Sherlock made a sound of disgust but didn’t stop pacing. As he grumbled on about the instinct of self-preservation and lemmings.  
“So,” John said removing his stethoscope from mummy’s back as he looked up from the examination. “Why are you packing it in?”  
“I lost control of myself.”  
John shrugged a little. “Could have been worse.”  
“Those were suspects. They were bound, unable to fight back. I really didn’t have a problem with hurting them.”  
“Was it worth it?” Mummy asked nonchalantly. When she didn’t get an immediate response, she clarified, “You actions weren’t by the letter of the law, but what about a higher law? If you were acting by malicious intent then you deserve punishment.”  
Greg didn’t hesitate to say, “You’re a scary bird sometimes. You know that, right?”  
“I’m saying that sometimes you have to break the letter of the law to uphold it’s spirit. Was it worth it?”  
“Yes.”  
She smiled mothering. “Then why punish yourself?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Greg arrived one minute early. He didn’t want to be too early. Answering questions on top of his lingering head cold wasn’t high on his list of things to do.  
He walked into the conference room just in time to hear DCI Melvin grumble about his tardiness.  
Greg got himself a cup of tea and the last pastry on the tray. He took a bit and looked around the room. He saw all of the people that had been in that room, and then some. Most were avoiding direct eye contact. And the rest, simply looked guilty.  
The inquiry was called to order. DCI Melvin and four other ranking officers sat at the front of the room.   
Greg took his seat at center stage. He ignored what was said for the most part and concentrated on his morning treat.   
DCI Melvin was still reading the charges against Greg when his mobile went off. A moment later, another DCI’s mobile went off. Then, the remaining three DCI’s got calls at the same time.  
Greg watched quietly as all five DCI’s turned away from the microphone’s in front of them to take their calls. The phone calls lasted the span of his pastry.  
He was sipping the last of his tea when DCI Melvin announced, “This inquiry is cancelled. Detective Inspector Lestrade is reinstated without prejudice.”  
Greg got up. He threw his cup away and loudly announced, “I need to see my team. Please, stay behind.”  
It took a few minutes for everyone to clear out. Because they weren’t moving fast enough, Sally held the door open and directly asked a few to leave. She then locked the door, walked over him with her hands on her hips, and demanded, “What the bloodly hell?”  
“Are you tapping your foot at me?” Greg asked incredulously. “After being maligned and mistreated by my superiors?”  
“Maligned and mistreated, sir? You pulled a suspects tooth out with a pair of pliers! You should be out on your arse!”  
At first Greg laughed, but quickly caught himself. “Yes, good point, Sally. That was wrong. We are the police. We don’t pull teeth out of suspects. Though in my own defense it was so rotted from all the drugs that it practically fell out.”  
Several others laughed.  
“Sir!”  
Greg sobered. “Alright, yeah. I owe all of you an explanation. This all started with my friend, Norman.”  
“Friend?” Dimmock asked. His voice dropped several octaves as he said, “Or, friend?”  
“We’re not lovers. He’s a mate.” Greg sat back. “He’s MI-6. The agency couldn’t get involved without ruining his career. I was told to handle it. Anything that it took to get that briefcase back unopened, up to and including killing whomever had it.”  
Everyone was quiet.  
“I know that I was extremely aggressive. I’m not proud of that. I hate what I’m capable of, but it was necessary. I made sure that no one else will be touched by this, nothing will be in your jackets.”  
“What do you suppose was in it?” Dimmock asked.  
“Don’t know. Didn’t ask. Don’t care.” He turned to Donovan. “I still don’t feel well. I’m taking the day off.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Mycroft arrived home he saw the door to the entertainment room was open. He walked in to find Gregory laid out on the couch with his socked feet peeking out from under the blanket that he was wrapped in. The television was on but set low so that it provided a little bit of background noise.   
Mycroft turned the television off and turned towards Gregory.  
Greg was almost asleep when he realized someone was in the room with him. He opened his eyes to see Mycroft standing near his feet still wearing a fresh suit.   
He reached out with his foot and ran it up the back of Mycroft’s long leg.   
“You look better,” Mycroft said with a little smile.  
“I am.” Greg go to up saying. “Let’s go.”  
He pulled the blanket over his shoulder and took Mycroft’s hand. Mycroft seemed a little confused for a moment. But then with a small, “Oh,” the realization hit him.  
Greg led the man upstairs to his bedroom.   
When the door was closed and they were alone and out of sight, Greg pulled the man towards the large bed. They’d slept there the two nights previous. Like brothers. Mycroft looking after Greg, making sure that he was sleeping with enough elevation to breathe comfortable. He’d made sure that Greg was comfortable, warm, and had plenty of tea.  
With Greg awake most of the night due to the aches and pains of his illness; he could do little more than watch Mycroft sleep. Young and carefree, he hardly moved once settled in to rest.   
This time, rest was the last thing they intended. They wanted the physical pleasure that came with deliberate and instinctual carnal acts.   
“I love you in a suit,” Greg said as he ran his hands up the expensive fabric of Mycroft’s jacket. “It gives me something to look forwards to opening up.”  
Mycroft reached for Greg’s hips and slid his fingers gently up. “You’re so incredibly beautiful.”  
“Me?” Greg was truly surprised. “I’m ordinary. It’s when I look at you that I wonder what the hell you see.”   
Mycroft was going to respond but Greg’s lips quieted him completely. And a moment later, Mycroft didn’t care to continue the conversation, nor could he remember what it had been about. All that mattered were those strong hands touching his skin.  
Greg took great pleasure in undressing Mycroft. He always did. He unwrapped the man slowly. He kissed each swatch of skin thoroughly as he revealed it. Freckled shoulders covered in softest skin lead down to long arms. Greg took great pleasure in pushing the shirt all the way down those arms so he could properly see the light sprinkling of auburn chest hair, and a soft stomach.  
Mycroft instantly shielded his stomach with his hand. Greg quickly took the man’s hands in his.  
“Don’t hide from me.”   
“Gregory, I…It was the holiday’s you see. I’ve had quite a bit of work and not enough time to-”  
Greg kissed the man again. He embraced Mycroft’s waist bringing them together.   
When they pulled apart, Greg said, “I want to enjoy every part of you exactly the way you are.”  
Mycroft didn’t meet his eyes.  
“I’m not looking for perfection, and I hope you’re not expecting it. It’s not like I’ve got a gym membership and all the time in the world to work out.”  
Mycroft leaned his forehead against Greg’s. “You are perfection.” He breathed in. “I’m going to get lost in you.”  
Greg smiled. “I’m going to marry you.”  
Mycroft pulled away in shock.  
“Sorry,” Greg huffed out reflexively. “I didn’t mean…yes, I did. I don’t want to propose to you like this. But I do want to eventually.”  
Mycroft’s face was blank.  
“Is that alright?”  
Mycroft had to wonder if he was dreaming. When it didn’t end, he said, “Is this real?”  
“Would It be okay if this was real? Beyond blindingly good sex?”  
Mycroft smiled a little. He leaned in so that they could meet in a kiss.  
Mycroft reached for the soft tee shirt Greg was wearing and pulled it up. He worked it all the way to Greg’s neck put hesitated to break the kiss. It took a few long moments before they willingly broke it and Greg’s shirt was taken away.  
Mycroft stepped out of his shoes and pushed Greg onto the bed. Greg obeyed but he reached for Mycroft’s belt buckle. They didn’t stop kissing as they worked to take Mycroft’s trousers away.   
They fell back onto the bed. Greg got the upper hand and kneeled so he could pull away the man’s trousers.   
Greg smiled. “My boyfriend wears black, silk underpants. How lucky am I?”  
Mycroft blushed.   
“You didn’t wear these at Rotham House.”  
“I believe,” Mycroft said still blushing hotly. “We were trying to remain separate and celibate then.”  
Greg pulled down his soft running pants.  
“And now my hot boyfriend is putting out the sexy pants for my benefit.” Greg stretched out over Mycroft slowly going up his body. “I could get used to this.” He kissed Mycroft’s stomach. “Morning.” He kissed the man’s chest. “Noon.” He kissed Mycroft’s lips. “And night.”  
Greg settled down grinding his cotton pants to Mycroft’s silks.   
Mycroft moaned, his arms stretched out so he could feel the warm body above him.   
Greg sucked Mycroft’s ear into his mouth.   
“I like the sounds you make,” Greg groaned.   
“Fuck me, Gregory. Please.” Mycroft stroked Gregory’s face. “I need you.”  
Greg kissed the man quiet.   
He didn’t want to be rushed. He’d spent too many hours thinking about this moment. Too many sleepless nights.   
When Mycroft was able he said, “That drawer. We need supplies.”  
For a moment Greg couldn’t follow. Then he realized what the man meant.   
Greg pulled away so that he could reach the drawer. He found a large, unopened, bottle of lubricant and a large box of condoms. He pulled the bottle into bed and a condom. He didn’t hesitate to pull the condom on before reaching for Mycroft again.  
Greg didn’t want to cock it up. He certainly didn’t want his cock to take the lead and finish before it was started. He knew that he needed to keep himself in check. More importantly than keeping control, he needed to make it good for Mycroft.   
Tomorrow wasn’t promised. This moment was all he had. He wanted to make this moment as good as he knew how. He wasn’t sure how different it was with a man. He’d only ever been with women. He hoped it was similar enough.   
And what he wanted was skin. Mycroft was soft. Not feminine. He had hard plans and the body of a man, but that body was covered in gorgeous skin. Gregory spread his hands across it tasting and feeling every inch.   
Mycroft writhed against the man loosing himself far quicker than he would have liked. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him. It had been years since he’d felt safe enough to close his eyes, and let go. And he did feel safe. As those big, calloused hands explored his body Mycroft knew that he didn’t have to be in control of everything, certainly not of this.   
Out of habit, Greg reached down to his lover’s chest. Normally, he liked to play with her breasts. He liked breasts. But what he found her the pecks of man. He pretended that they were simply small and tweaky. He took each into his mouth. He suckled greedily enjoying the feel of Mycroft’s hard nipples against tongue. He nipped enjoying the surprised reactions.  
Mycroft leaned down so he could kiss Greg’s lips. His nipples were ached and tingled enough that he wanted to hurry the man a bit. Although it was nice, he didn’t want to take it slow. Slow was for another time. This night, he wanted it wild and messy. He wanted anarchy to touch him; his body, and his mind.   
Mycroft pulled away so that he could kneel. He pulled Gregory up.   
“You’re sure,” Greg said a little lost.  
Mycroft answered by kissing him. Wet, deep. Their tongues slid still tasting something new, different.  
Mycroft pulled out of the kiss and pushed Greg back as he straddled his leg around him and pushed his back against the man. Greg’s cock was instantly lined up between Mycroft’s legs. The heat there made a growl rise up out of him.   
It turned out that Mycroft was just as interesting from behind as he was from the front. Greg got to kiss and touch the expanse of freckled skin there. He found the scars that he’d seen at the sauna. Only this time, he took the time to kiss each one thoroughly before reaching down for the man’s impressive buttocks.   
“You’ve a beautiful arse, Mycroft.”   
“Fuck it, then,” Mycroft responded hastily.  
“Language,” Greg admonished. “I’ll get to it when I’m good and ready. Now bed down and get comfy. You’re going to be there a bit.”  
Greg couldn’t take his eyes off the man’s back as he settled himself down. It was rather a production. First, Mycroft chose a pillow. It took several minutes for him to settle it down under his hips in a way that he liked. He shifted several times. When he was ready he looked back at Greg.  
“That took a while, I’d be annoyed,” said Greg. “But I was staring at your ass for most of it.”  
Mycroft blushed deeply.   
“Interesting.” Greg reached for the lubricant. “Apparently, the great Mycroft Holmes hasn’t realized just how fucking hard I am for his body. The mind is nice, but let’s face it, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about most of the time. I’d like it if you listened to my prick though.”   
Greg trailed his fingertips down the length of Mycroft”s back. Exceptionally smooth even down to his lower back and then down over the soft swells of his asre.   
“I’ll promise you one things, Mr. Holmes. It’ll explain everything to you quite thoroughly.”  
Greg might now have been with a man before, but he’d played the field often enough before marriage. He’d experimented a few times with anal sex. And then, he and his wife had indulged a few times. He’d enjoyed it far more than she had. It had felt tighter when he’d had her on her stomach.   
He reached for Mycroft’s soft skinned arse and parted his cheeks. Inside he was purplish and tight. Greg smiled. Even before the act, he knew that he could do this for the rest of his life and be satisfied.   
Mycroft wasn’t sure what to do. Greg wanted to look at that part of his body and Mycroft wasn’t sure what to do about it. Then he heard Greg spit. The warmth of it landed there. Mycroft instinctively tightened up but when the man’s strong fingers began rubbing the spit into his crevice he allowed it.   
“One day, I’m going to do that again,” Greg said kissing Mycroft’s lower back. “Then I’m going to fuck you without the lube.” Greg used two fingers press the hand warmed lubricant against Mycroft sliding it over him lazily. “If you don’t want it, you’re going to have to insist. Pretty sure, it’ll hurt.”  
As if to illustrate his point, Greg slid his index finger inside of Mycroft to the first knuckle. Instantly, he was greeted with heat and tightness. Greg wasn’t the brightest man in creation, but no one had to tell him that he’d found a great fuck. Hot and responsive.  
“Yes, I know,” Mycroft huffed. He focused on relaxing that part of his body as much as possible. “It can’t be anytime soon, Greg. It’s been years since I’ve had a lover.”  
“Is that why you’re so tight?” Greg slid his finger in deeper to the second knuckle breaching the second set of sphincter muscles. Greg pulled his finger out and scooped up more lubricant. He repeated the action, this time coating the way carefully with the lubricant. Slowly, he began to work. Twisting his finger and pushing down until he felt Mycroft’s body react from the burning sensation.   
“Tight as a virgin,” Greg said with a smile. “I’m supposed to be the virgin.”  
Greg pulled his finger out and scooped up more lubricant. This time with two fingers. Again, he pushed in carefully working his way in deeper.   
It was glorious. The dull burn almost to the point of pain as he was invaded and so tenderly prepared for what was coming. Greg’s fingers were long. They were thick and calloused. He could feel all of it. The sensation was amazingly erotic.  
Greg looked at his fingers inside of Mycroft. He held them there for a long moment, unmoving. Finally, he said, “I want you to do this to me, Monkey. When I’m ready. I want you to be the only one that ever fucks me.”  
Mycroft moaned. His hips canted forwards rubbing one the pillow beneath him.  
“No!” Greg barked. “You have to wait.” Greg swallowed hard. “You have to wait for me.”  
Greg twisted his fingers. Soon, he was scissoring his fingers inside the man. When he pulled out his fingers to add more lube, he was aware of the pain between his legs. Greg had to breath. He thought about football scores and the winning play. When he was ready, he slid three fingers inside of that incredible tightness.   
Greg felt his hips move forwards of their own accord. His body wanted satisfaction. He ached to achieve it, but he had work to do.  
He moved his fingers twisting them gently. When he thought Mycroft was ready for it, he began moving his fingers in and out.   
Mycroft finally began making the right kinds of sounds. His body wrapped around Greg’s fingers. He felt as if he was being sucked in gently. Tempted, given the opportunity to experience a nirvana like nothing before.  
He wasn’t entirely sure if Mycroft was ready. A part of him wasn’t sure if he cared. He needed to feel the man. He needed to know what it was like to make love to him.   
“I have too,” Greg whispered when he couldn’t take it anymore. He had just enough presence of mind to squirt lubricant into his hand and coat his cock.  
Greg aligned himself already loving the heat that he felt from Mycroft’s body. He pushed in slowly. Mycroft pushed back accepting him quickly and easily.   
Greg had just breached the first ring of muscles when he held back. He was tight and if felt incredible. He breathed a few times and then pushed in a little deeper. He breached the second set of muscles and pulled out of it wanting to do it again. He pushed in going deeper and then pulled out halfway. Each time he went deeper until he was balls deep.   
Greg looked down and huffed out a laughter that sounded more like a whine. He felt drunk.   
He didn’t think; he did. His body knew this dance. It knew what to do.   
“Monkey,” Greg was able to gasp out as he greedily refused to halt his rhythm. Then came the last words that he was able to coherently mutter, “Chirp for me, Monkey.”   
Despite his best efforts, his body did loose control. They both did. They fell deeply into their bodies living in the sensation where rational thought was vanished. The primitive parts of their brains took over demanding more and more pleasure. They hurled their bodies at one another seeking out as much as possible.   
Strange sounds could be heard far away. Howls. Like animals.   
Nothing mattered except that feeling. White hot. Deep. It spread until it hit them both. First, Mycroft stiffened with a grunt and then Gregory. He continued rutting into Mycroft still seeking deeper entry. A few moments later, his movements waned.   
The exhaustion of their bodies surfaced to the only working part of their brains. Slowly, they realized that they were too tired to continue. Mycroft fell face down unable to move. Greg had just enough presence of mind to roll over off his lover. A moment later, Greg was asleep.  
It took a minute or five, but Mycroft got up for a few necessary actions. He removed Greg’s condom. He cleaned them both up a bit. He threw a blanket over the two of them and turned off the lights.   
For the first time in weeks, sleep came easy to Mycroft. Well earned and dreamless sleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Morning came with a contentment of circumstance.   
They opened their eyes to see their lover laying in front of them, messy from sleep and smiling.  
Greg didn’t hesitation to get up and pull the blanket down.  
“You have such a pretty prick,” Greg sighed.   
Mycroft was too taken aback to answer.   
Greg gently ran his fingers through Mycroft’s public hair saying, “This is the greatest pubic hair that I’ve ever seen.”  
Mycroft laughed.  
“It is,” he insisted. “Well behaved, dark red, and soft.”  
He nuzzled Mycroft’s pubic hair gently with his face before turning into it to enjoy the scent.   
“You smell good,” Greg moaned. Mycroft’s penis twitched. Greg laughed happily, “I could never get tired of this.”  
He looked up at Mycroft and said, “I’m ready for more. Are you sore?”  
“A little bit. You were quite…physical.”  
“Sorry,” Greg said already upset. “I’ll be more careful.”  
“I enjoyed it,” Mycroft admitted. “How much to do you actually know about sex with men.”  
“Nothing. What we did last night.”   
“Turn on your side,” Mycroft instructed.   
Greg obeyed.  
Mycroft pulled Greg’s leg over his and moved into position so that their erections were rubbing against one another.   
“Now fuck me,” Mycroft commanded. 


	5. The Date

Mummy was so much better that she was sipping along on her walker and occasionally only a cane. Greg was so proud that he offered to take her out for lunch on the next Saturday.   
Mycroft happily agreed to be there saying that, “Nothing short of a catastrophe would keep me away.”  
“We should take her to that Italian restaurant you took me to, the one with the sort of alright wine.”  
Mycroft laughed. “You’re such a wine snob.”  
Seriously, Greg said, “It’s my heritage. And, it wasn’t excellent. The food was excellent; the seafood pasta was perfect.”  
That Saturday rolled around quickly. This would be the first date for he and Mycroft since moving in together.   
Greg dressed in a fresh suit and a crisp shirt. His shoes were shined to a high polish. He even put a little product in his hair for added control.  
Mummy dressed in one of her best channel suits with a matching hat and scarf.   
They were leaving the house when Greg’s phone rang. Mrs. Bedford and nurse Phillips helping mummy on the steps.   
“Mycroft we’re on our way out now.”  
“I do hate to do this, but something has happened that needs my attention.”  
Greg felt the smile melt off his face. His shoulders even slumped.  
“That’s disappointing.”  
“Please. Do go. I know you’ll enjoy the outing, and mummy has been so looking forwards to it.”  
“Don’t worry. We’ll try to enjoy ourselves even though the largest part of our hearts won’t be there.”  
“I’ll make it up to you.”  
“You will. Don’t be surprised if you’re making it up to me most of the night.”  
“Darling, the call is being monitored.”   
“Oh, in that case. You’re the most amazing lover that I’ve ever had. You’re hung like a bull. I don’t know how I retain the ability to walk. Better?”  
Mycroft laughed. “Quite. Do entertain Mummy and give her my apologies.”  
“Yes, Monkey.”  
Greg turned to find a sour look on her face.  
“You know now his job can get hectic.”  
“What I know, young man, is that I suffered down those steps!” Firmly, she said, “We are going to lunch or there will be a price to pay!”  
“Madame,” Greg said with a flourish of his hand. He offered her his arm and escorted her to the car.  
Once they were settled and the door closed the car pulled smoothly from the curve.  
They chatted for a few minutes about the press that both the restaurant and the chef had gotten. That included a piece that had been on the news. Greg got so caught up in their discussion that it took him a moment for the realization to dawn on him.  
He turned into the window and noticed that they were headed in the wrong direction. They were in the wrong part of town. Greg leaned forwards and pounded on the dark glass divider that separated them.  
“Hey! Hey, mate!”  
Greg reached for his phone and quickly found that he had no signal.   
“Check your phone, mummy,” he said quickly.  
Greg found the car phone and found no dial tone. The doors and windows were all locked. Their situation was now fully apparent.  
He sat back and carefully said, “When we stop. Play up the senile, old lady bit.”   
She didn’t speak but did reach out to take his hand in hers.  
They rode the rest of the way in silence. The streets turned bumpy. Eventually, they went down into an underground structure. The area where they parked was strewn with garbage and spoke of dilapidation.  
Their driver got out with a weapon in hand. He didn’t hesitate to open the door. Using the bullet proof glass as a shield the figure pointed his weapon inside saying, “Your weapon or she dies.”  
The voice was muffled.  
Greg pulled his weapon out slowly. “No Shooting. Here it comes.”  
Greg released the magazine and threw it out. He racked the slide. The chambered bullet popped out. He caught it and threw it out too. Greg locked the slide back and threw it away.  
“Out,” the man said impatiently as he waved the weapon haphazardly.  
“I’m coming out first. Mrs. Holmes has a bad hip. She can’t get out on her own.”  
“Hurry.”  
Greg carefully crawled over her and got out. Instantly, he saw that the man’s voice was muffled due to a Halloween mask. It was a very realistic mask.  
“Now,” the man insisted  
“Is this the restaurant?” Mrs. Holmes asked looking around.  
“No. We’re not there yet. Soon.” Greg turned to the man. “Her health has been so delicate since the accident. Please, let her stay in the car. She’s just an old lady.”  
It took a moment, but finally he heard the man say, “Fine, old boy. Walk that way.”  
Greg did as he was instructed. And walked back behind the car.  
“Turn around.”  
Greg obeyed.  
“Ansley,” Greg said. “I’m usually good with voices, but it took me a moment.”  
The man peeled back the mask. He was sweaty and pale. “It’s hot under this thing, but it keeps the CCTV cameras from finding a recognizable feature.”  
“If this is about Mycroft-  
The man laughed. “Mycroft. So short-sighted. That pompous, bag-of-air is my passage to the life that I want. I never honestly counted on anyone like you getting in my way.”  
Ansley held the grip a little tighter. The tension in his hand built.   
“One thing. I know you’re going to kill me. Just make sure that she’s found. Mycroft can survive my death, but not hers.”  
“Fine,” he snapped out like a petulant child.  
A second later, he fire twice.  
Greg felt a sudden heat rush through his body. The momentum pushed him back to the ground. The wind was knocked out of him.  
He thought he heard a woman scream.  
It took his mind a few long seconds to understand that the scream had been mummy’s.  
He wanted to move his left arm but found that he couldn’t.  
He had just enough presence of mind to reach up to the car’s bumper. He grabbed hold and pulled himself to a kneeling position. Greg reached down for his ankle holder and pulled out the little .22 that he kept as back up.  
Ansley was pounding on the car, screaming obscenities. He screamed then he fired several bullets at it.  
Greg took a deep breath and used everything he had to stand as he raised the .22. He fired three times. He missed each time and felt the recoil from each shot straight down to his bones.   
If nothing else, it was enough to scare Ansley away.  
Greg staggered around to the car door. He looked into the dark glass. It was intact. There wasn’t even a scratch on the paint job. He knew that she was alright. The door was still locked.   
A moment later, Greg felt the world tilt and go black at the same time.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He woke up stiff and in pain. The air he was breathing in was cold inside of his sinuses. His mouth tasted really bad. He couldn’t feel much below his waist at first. Without moving, he already knew that if he moved too fast there would be pain.   
He opened his eyes fully. He was in a hospital setting. It was cold.   
He turned his head slowly. His muscles protested immediately. He found that he had a bunkmate. Mycroft was laying close by. His hair was a mess and he had several days of growth on his face.  
Greg felt something warm in his hand. He smiled. The feel of Mycroft’s hand was hard to forget.  
“Gregory!” Mycroft exhaled. Wide-eyed, frightened, and happy all at once.  
Mycroft pulled away. Got down from his bed and ran around to Greg’s side.  
Mycroft smoothed Gregory’s hair back. He kissed his forehead. Kissed his lips.   
“Cold,” Greg crocked.  
Mycroft went directly to a cabinet and pulled out a large suitcase. He pulled out a thick blanket and draped it over Gregory. He got close enough that Greg could smell the body odor on Mycroft. It was odd enough to catch his attention.  
He lingered at Greg’s feet tucking him in. If nothing else, he felt the movement against his legs. He wasn’t paralyzed, just a little numb. He wiggled his stiff toes. His muscles were sore, but they were useable.  
Greg tried to lift his head and was instantly sorry. The muscles in the left side of his neck were more sore than he thought.  
“Don’t,” Mycroft said quickly. “You took a bullet in your shoulder and one in the chest. Your left arm is bandaged and secured.”  
On a lark, Greg tried to move his left hand’s fingers. He found that he could move them, but he felt the strain in other muscles.  
“Mummy?” Greg asked suddenly.  
“She’s fine,” Mycroft assured. “I sent her home with Mrs. Bedford. She brought provisions, but I couldn’t eat.”  
“Ansley.”  
“I know.” The look on Mycroft’s face was pained. “He was one of my best suspects. I couldn’t go to lunch because he disappeared that morning.”   
“How long since you’ve changed your suit?” Greg asked looking over the wrinkles. “You smell.”  
Great had meant it as a joke hoping to make Mycroft smile. He didn’t smile. In fact, Mycroft began crying and apologizing at the same time.  
“Mycroft…Monkey. Please, don’t cry. I shouldn’t have said that to you.”  
Mycroft wandered closer. He walked to Greg’s head and bent down to press their bristly cheeks together.  
“I have a posh, rugged, boyfriend,” Greg announced proudly. “How lucky am I?”  
Mycroft kissed Greg’s forehead.  
“I’ve been a little…” Mycroft closed his eyes. He sniffed. He shook his head saying, “I’m sending for my barber. Anthea can bring me a clean suit. I’ll get a nurse. You probably want to wash. You’ve been there for five days.”  
“Brush my teeth,” Greg said quickly. “My mouth tastes like rug.”  
Greg lay back and watched Mycroft come to life. His face became more animated. His eyes shone more. He even sounded happier. All because he picked his phone up and started making phone calls to the outside world.  
When he was done, Mycroft moved the bed next to Greg away. He pushed a chair over so he could sit and hold Greg’s hand.  
“Why haven’t you been taking care of yourself?”  
Mycroft looked away.  
“Not that I don’t love the new rugged you. God knows I’d like to fuck rugged, scruffy Mycroft. Bet that fuzz would tickle in a few places.”  
Mycroft managed a smile. “I was afraid that if I stepped away you’d die. I know logically that it’s irrational, but I was so afraid. I suppose that I shut down, Gregory.”  
Greg held Mycroft’s hand a little tighter. “I’m not leaving you, Monkey. You’re stuck with this old copper.”  
“Promise?”  
“Promise.” A moment later, Greg scrunched his face. “I have a question. Am I wearing a diaper?”  
“Five days, my love. Do you need it changed?”  
“Thank God, no. But I need to pee.”  
“You’re wearing a catheter. Do go ahead. We shall talk to the doctors about your mobility. Promise me, however, that you won’t move until the doctors tell you to do so.”  
“I promise on one condition.”  
Mycroft smirked. “What condition? I ask in breathless anticipation knowing that you shall set terms.”  
Greg mirrored the other man’s smirk. “I want you to grow this beard out again. Later, when I’m better. I should have the opportunity to have sex with something this incredibly sex. Now help me brush my teeth. I want to know what it feels like to get beard burn before it’s gone.”  
“On your face,” Mycroft said insistently.  
“Really?”  
“I must insist. This isn’t a hospital, it’s a treatment center for operatives. It was the closest surgery that could take you.”  
“We’re being monitored,” Greg said rather disappointed.  
“Not forever,” Mycroft said hopefully.  
The nurse entered and immediately began checking Gregory and asking him questions. A phone call later brought a second nurse and a doctor into the room. As questions were asked and his body checked, Greg noticed Anthea enter.  
“Anthea,” Greg called. “Get him out and fix him up properly, please.”  
Anthea turned to Mycroft and said something quietly.  
Slowly, Mycroft turned away and walked out.  
When Mycroft returned he looked himself again. Aside from the scruffy red beard, he was immaculate. A good shower and a fresh change of clothes seemed to have changed his entire demeanor.  
In the time that Mycroft was gone, Greg was carefully sat up. His dressings were changed. His teeth were brushed. And, his hospital gown was changed. It wasn’t a wash, but it was something.  
Mycroft took his place next to Gregory saying, “My barber will be here soon. He’s quite excellent. Mr. Warthen still uses a razor, and hot towels. It’s quite relaxing.”  
“Sounds nice. My neck and shoulder hurt so bad, a hot towel would be soothing.”  
“Well,” Mycroft said adjusting Greg’s blankets. “I’ve asked Anthea to find a suitable therapeutic masseur with the qualifications to sooth you without aggravating your injuries.”  
Greg moaned lewdly. “I’ve told you that I love you, yeah?”  
Mycroft fell silent.  
The sudden realization struck Gregory. “No, I haven’t.” He felt a sudden pain in his chest. “Why haven’t I told you? I could have died without telling you.” Tears gathered in Greg’s eyes. “I’m so sorry.”  
“It’s fine.”  
“No. It isn’t. I love you. I love you so much it hurts. The idea of not being with you is…horrifying. I need you.”  
Mycroft smiled. The wetness in his eyes mirrored Gregory’s.   
“I love you too.” Mycroft ran his fingers through Greg’s soft hair. “You’ve become so much to me in so short a time that it’s bothersome.”  
Greg smirked. “I try.”  
“Caring is not an advantage,” Mycroft said quietly.  
“No, but it makes you human. It makes you open to so many good things.”  
Mycroft leaned forward and gently brushed his lips against Greg’s. Greg in turn giggled, “Tickles. Do it again, mountain man.”  
Their beards were bristly and prickled as their lips met again.  
The sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted.   
Anthea stood at the door way. Apologetically, she said, “Pardon. But you wanted to know when Mr. Warthen arrived.”  
Mycroft smiled. “Show him in, my dear. And do get a nurse, Gregory will have to be moved.”  
“Yes, sir.”  
Greg’s bed was repositioned down with his head down and his feet slightly elevated so he could be shaved. A hot towel was placed on Greg’s face and neck. He growled approvingly at the heat. When Mr. Warthen was ready, the feet of Greg’s bed was tilted up and he moved his head back exposing his throat. The barber had a light touch and expertly wielded his blade with out slipping.   
Greg almost fell asleep as the man worked. He only opened his eyes once he was patted gently with a towel. He was fully awake when lotion was applied to his face.   
After, Greg had the opportunity to watch Mycroft get shaved. It was entertaining and soothing at the same time. The look on Mycroft’s face was serene. Compared to the panic that he’d seen upon waking, Greg was incredibly glad.  
By the time Mycroft sat up an straightened his suit, Greg’s eyes had grown heavy.   
“You’re so beautiful,” he slurred.  
A few seconds later, Greg felt himself float off

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Greg woke up to the sound of several things falling onto the floor.  
He opened his eyes and managed to turn his head enough to find Sherlock head and shoulders deep in a cabinet.  
“No souvenirs,” Greg growled.  
Sherlock pulled out just long enough to say, “I’m stocking up for an experiment.”  
“’S long as that experiment doesn’t involve pharmaceuticals.”  
From under the cabinet Sherlock’s voice resonated, “You’re predictably boring!”  
When Sherlock was done gathering his haul of illegal gains, he stood and said, “Mummy wished I convey a message. She’s demanded Mycroft home to sleep. She will be along with soup. She will also bring you appropriate clothing and I am to entertain you until her arrival.”   
Greg looked at Sherlock and asked, “Got a cigarette?”  
“John confiscated them.”  
“Even the hidden ones?”  
“Yes. He’s gotten quite good at finding my hidden places.”  
Greg smirked. Given the kinds of rumors that Sherlock and John had been inspiring, he couldn’t help it. He swallowed the mirth, but instead of asking or building on the easy comment, Greg asked, “Did you bring beer?”  
“Mummy has forbidden you beer until the doctors clear you.”  
“Mate, you’re less than worthless to me right now.”  
“Consider us even then. You were supposed to be reinstated and then start bringing me cases, not get yourself shot.” Sherlock swept his hand over Greg’s chest demanding, “Just look at this mess. It’s going to be at least a month before you’re productive. And then, I have to wait until a case worthy of my time and attention comes about!”  
“Aw, poor you. Now go find me a nurse. I want Jello and juice. If you put anything in my food, I’ll tell mummy and I’ll make sure you never live it down.”  
For a moment Sherlock seemed as if he were going to respond. But then, he closed his mouth, twisted his nose up, and stomped out of the room.  
Greg smiled as he lay back patiently to wait for his snack.  
Greg couldn’t help the smile when Sherlock returned with his snack in hand. Sherlock placed two juice containers and a Jello cup on the rolling tray saying, “I hope you’re satisfied. Massive intellect, high IQ, and I’m reduced to the position of errand boy.”  
“Open one for me and sit. I want to talk.”  
Despite the sour look, Sherlock opened a juice and put a straw in to the container without being asked.  
“I need to ask you a very important question. I’m serious about this.”  
“Oh, no,” Sherlock said woefully. “He’ll be absolutely insufferable.”  
Greg smiled. “I love him. If you’re to be my brother-in-law, I want your permission.”  
“Why?” Sherlock demanded like a cat that had just been condemned to a cold shower.  
“It’s tradition. I also think that it would mean a lot to both your brother, mummy, and me if you gave your blessing.”  
Sherlock went still. His eyes staring in to Greg, thinking. That beautiful mind rushing along at a break neck speed. Greg had enough experience with him to know that it would take however long it would take. So, Greg drank his juice.  
After a good while, Sherlock said, “You haven’t lived with him for long.”  
“The honeymoon is still going. The sex is amazing!”  
“No,” Sherlock said with a shake of his head. “I’ll have to delete that!”  
Although amusing, Greg wiped the smirk off his face so he could say, “We’re good together. I know if I want to wait too much longer.”  
“Wait for what?” Mummy Holmes asked walking in with her cane.   
Greg couldn’t help the smile.  
“I’m trying to get Sherlock’s permission so that I can propose to your son.”  
“Really,” she said seriously. “I thought you already had. I’ve been planning the engagement party. There is the announcements, the food, and the invitations to plan. And we absolutely need a suitable picture for the society pages.” She patting his leg as she assured, “A Holmes simply doesn’t marry every day.”  
“Maybe they should. If we find someone nice fore Sherlock…  
Sherlock ran away leaving behind his stolen goods.   
“You don’t hunt often, do you, Gregory? The game has escaped now. It will be a month before I see him again!”  
“I’m sorry.”  
She leaned in and assured. “Sherlock does not like being fixed up. We have a bad track record.”  
“I’ll make it right. I promise. I’ll let him know it was a joke. And, if that doesn’t work I’ll have John deliver him to you.”  
Mummy pulled a rolling chair close and asked, “How are you today?”  
“Better now that I’ve seen you.”  
“My dear, you scared ten years off my life. Even worse, once I found the panic button in the car, it locked all the doors. Had I known that, I wouldn’t have pressed it. I might have done something to slow the blood.”  
“It doesn’t matter now.”  
“Gregory, you almost died several times. You took six pints by the time you were done with the surgery. Your heart stopped at one point. Poor Mycroft has been absolutely besides himself.”  
“I know. I saw. Tell me he’s better.”  
“Now that he’s slept,” she said easily. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that he’d cleaned up. He said he’d have to make an appearance at his office.”  
“The official Mycroft Holmes signal for being better.”  
“I thought so as well.”  
The housekeeper walked in with a picnic basket.  
“There you are, Bedford. Get the broth for Gregory first. We shall see how much of his hunger has returned.”  
“Yes, mum.”  
“Good morning, Mrs. Bedford,” Greg said with a smile.  
“Sir,” the woman said with a nod.  
Mummy turned and assured Greg, “I made you a nice broth. Beef bone of course. If you want something heavier, we made a nice quiche. It is brunch time after all. I brought plenty in case Mycroft comes.”  
“Has he been eating?”  
“Not much.” Her face fell tensely.  
“When he sees that quiche, his mind will change.”  
She leaned in and seductively said, “I also made cake.”  
“You horrible temptress! What kind?”  
“Most likely my favorite,” Mycroft said from the door. He walked in and went directly to his mother. He kissed her cheek. “Good morning again, mummy. Should I expect chocolate cake with caramel frosting?”  
“You may.”  
“Good morning, Bedford.”  
“Good morning, sir.”  
Mycroft walked around the bed so that he could properly kiss Gregory. It was a sweet kiss, gentle, and soothing. Mycroft finished it by softly kissing Gregory’s forehead.  
Mycroft then pulled out his phone and showed the screen to him. On the screen were medical stats and a small window with a live view of Greg’s room. Greg couldn’t help laughing a little. It hurt.  
“I saw that you were awake and I came right down.”  
“Of course you did. Sit down and have some quiche, or would you rather have cake?”  
“I fear that’s a trick question.”  
“No trick. You haven’t been eating enough. We’re worried. That’s all.”  
“No need to worry,” Mycroft replied easily. “I’m well. My appetite has fully returned.” he emphasized looking at his mother. “And, I would love quiche. Yours is always excellent, mummy.”  
As he waited for his quiche, Mycroft sat back and said, “I’d like to speak to you about your recovery. I want you home with us.”  
“We,” mummy emphasized.  
Mycroft smiled. “We want you home with us.”  
“Only if I get to sleep next to you,” Greg replied easily.  
Mycroft looked away. He smiled only a little. “I’m having what things you’ll need brought to the house as well as having arrangements made for your care. I’ve already discussed the situation with Anthea so that I can have more work brought to me at home.”  
“Mycroft-   
“I want to be there,” Mycroft explained. “I won’t be able to concentrate if I’m worrying. And, I shall worry if I’m not with you.”  
“That sounds like a vicious circle.”   
“The worst,” Mycroft assured.  
Greg sighed. “Then I guess I have to stay.”  
Mycroft smiled. “Circumstances beyond our control.” 


End file.
